


One step at a time

by PaxterHobber



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kid Fic, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Parent Phil Coulson, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subdrop, aged-down characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-06-20 15:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15537384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber
Summary: He was just tired. High fever wrecked him for days and he couldn’t remember when he last ate or drank. How long could it take until his body gave out? Not much longer, he felt it. He closed his eyes and felt almost peaceful. He tried to conjure up images from before, lying in the grass, feeling the sun, the laughter of his sisters… Steve…He was jolted back to reality by a hard kick to his ribs. He tried to sit up and focus on his Dom and the stranger. Did they ask him something? The words were just not piercing through the fog in his brain. Maybe they weren’t even speaking English.The other man was staring at him intensely, which made Bucky’s skin crawl. He just wanted to be left alone, forgotten in this hellhole, with ugly grey concrete walls and a filthy stained mattress. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He had nothing more to give.In which Phil saves Bucky from a trafficking ring and helps him get better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt, so please don't be too hard on me:) I'm writing just for the fun of it, I hope you'll enjoy it at least a little:)
> 
> I'll be posting once a week.

It wouldn’t take much longer, Bucky thought. He was floating and time was stuttering. One time he was alone and the next time he blinked there was his Dom and some new guy looming over him. Bucky thought they must be talking about him but he couldn’t make out the words. 

It didn’t matter anyway. Bucky knew it would be over soon. Or at least he hoped. His left arm was no longer emitting excruciating pain, only a sort of dull throb. It was weird color and he couldn’t really feel it or move it, but at least the pain was bearable. 

He was just tired. High fever wrecked him for days and he couldn’t remember when he last ate or drank. How long could it take until his body gave out? Not much longer, he felt it. He closed his eyes and felt almost peaceful. He tried to conjure up images from before, lying in the grass, feeling the sun, the laughter of his sisters… Steve…

He was jolted back to reality by a hard kick to his ribs. He tried to sit up and focus on his Dom and the stranger. Did they ask him something? The words were just not piercing through the fog in his brain. Maybe they weren’t even speaking English.

The other man was staring at him intensely, which made Bucky’s skin crawl. He just wanted to be left alone, forgotten in this hellhole, with ugly grey concrete walls and a filthy stained mattress. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He had nothing more to give.

He closed his eyes for a second and the next thing he knew, he was being half carried half dragged from the building. The sun was blinding, even though the sky was overcast. When was the last time he was outside? He couldn’t remember. 

He was deposited to the backseat of a huge black SUV and the stranger buckled him up with a seatbelt. How considerate, Bucky wanted to smirk but was just too exhausted. The seat was soft and warm and he felt himself drifting back to his half-sleep, half-unconsciousness again. 

But something was nagging at the back of his mind. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t his Dom. He looked at the stranger at the steering wheel and saw him looking back at him in the rear-view mirror. A pair of blue eyes were piercing him, clouded with what looked like concern and worry.

“Wait, what-” Bucky rasped as he fought against the fog in his brain. He grappled for the seatbelt pinning him down but his body wasn’t really cooperating.

“Settle down, it’s ok. You’re alright,” the man said gently. 

Bucky was far fucking away from alright. He was just so done with this. He made his peace. In the last couple of weeks nobody rarely ever came down there for him. Bucky knew his Dom was tired and bored of him and no wonder. He was sick and most of the time couldn’t really follow what was happening even though they didn’t bother drugging him anymore. Not much fun to play with, so they left him alone. To rot away, forgotten. 

And Bucky was strangely okay with it. At the end the pain faded, and the hunger and thirst all blended into this weird numbness that was now cracking and the terror was seeping back in. He looked at the strange Dom again. He was going to ruin everything. He was gonna… Bucky didn’t want to… Not again.

“Please-” he breathed out. He didn’t know how to put any of it to words, not that he had the energy for it or that it would make a difference. 

Before he could succumb to a full-blown panic attack, the car stopped. Out of the window he saw a couple of people in white coats and green scrubs run towards the car and he knew there was nothing he could do. He closed his eyes and willed his mind to float again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's stay in the hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all medical inaccuracies!

When he first came to, he barely had time to register his surroundings before the pain in his left arm hit him. He gasped for breath but before he could even make a sound, there was someone standing right next to him, fiddling with what he later realized was an IV pole, and he blissfully fell asleep again.

He woke up on and off for the next couple of days but couldn’t keep awake for longer than a few minutes. He caught glimpses of faces of strangers, some kind and pitying, while others cold and detached. He heard whispered arguments but couldn’t make out any of the words. Most of the times he only heard soft beeping of the machines.

When he finally woke up enough to find his bearings, he started to gauge the situation. He was in a bed in a room that looked pretty much like an ICU unit. There were a couple of machines and he felt a pinch of an IV needle at the back of his right hand. He registered an unfamiliar, unpleasant pressure in his private areas. Great, a catheter. 

He wasn’t in too much pain. His head throbbed and his left arm felt… His stomach dropped and his heart immediately started beating like crazy. He looked at the bundle of bandages on his left side. It didn’t make any sense, his brain refused to process what he was seeing.

“Oh, hi, you’re awake, good.” A young doctor entered the room and sat herself at the edge of the bed. 

He barely heard her over the buzzing in his ears. His stomach churned unpleasantly and he was glad he had nothing to throw up.

“So, as you already noticed, we couldn’t save your arm. The sepsis has spread too much. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Lucky? He wanted to laugh hysterically. Or cry. Or maybe both. He was a cripple. What good was he now? Ugly, damaged sub and now with a hideous stump. Useless. 

The doctor was talking again and he tried to focus on her to stave off the panic gripping his heart.

“You’re healing nicely and should be transferred to a normal room in a day or two. Just rest, okay? It’s going to be just fine, don’t worry.” With a pat on his thigh she stood up and left the room.

Once he was alone again, he gave up trying to stop the drop. He started to shiver, his throat constricted as he fought for oxygen. What’s gonna happen to him? Will the man from the car still want to keep him? Does he have some kind of amputee fetish? He didn’t know which was worse and couldn’t hold on to the thought as everything started to slip away and fade into the white noise of panic.  
***

As promised, he was moved to a private regular room. It was nice, with calming orange décor, wooden nightstands and flowery drapes in the window. It didn’t really look like a hospital room, save for the positioning hospital bed and an IV stand. His new Dom must be loaded. Yeah, no wonder when he can purchase a sub from those guys. 

Bucky wondered when he was going to show up. He was pretty indulgent to let him stay at the hospital for so long. Or maybe he was busy and couldn’t be bothered. Or wanted Bucky to gain his strength back before he took him home and played with him.

They brought him food three times a day. Most of it was mushy and pretty bland but it was real food and still a significant improvement from the scraps he had before. He also had a piece of fresh fruit with every meal, which was pretty much the best part of his day and he always savored it to last as long as possible.

There was a small TV in the room but he didn’t dare to ask for the remote. The nurses, while not really mean, didn’t talk to him much and he got the hint so he didn’t bother. Once a day a doctor came to check his stump and that was it. 

On his second day in the regular room, there was a knock on the door. One of the younger nurses poked her head in and asked: “You have a visitor, is that ok?”

Bucky just nodded but straightened up immediately. That was it. He tried to comb his tangled sweaty hair with his fingers. Not that he had much chance of a first impression. His heart was beating out of ribs as the door opened again.

He stared in surprise at the young teenager with sandy blond hair and friendly grin stretching on his face. He crossed the room in a few swift steps and plopped down into the plush armchair by the bed.

“Hi.”

“Um, hello?” Bucky answered unsure. He eyed the boy in front of him. He looked younger than him, maybe fifteen or sixteen. 

“I’m Clint, I’m your… um, roommate. Flat mate. Fellow sub,” he said cheerfully.

Oh. Bucky looked him over once again. He looked… good. Healthy. Well-fed. That didn’t have to mean anything, though.

“Did he send you?”

Clint’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Phil? No, not exactly, I just thought you might like some company. Must be boring here.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Bucky spat out, angry. “Fuck off.” He added as an afterthought.

If Clint was offended, he didn’t show it. “That’s fine. Here, I brought you something to read.” He reached to his backpack lying at his feet and pulled out a stack of worn, dog-eared comics. “Some of the issues are missing, sorry. I can fill you up on the story. That’s all I was able to save. Well, anyway…” he deposited the comic books on the nightstand. “See you later!” And with one last smile he was gone.

Bucky stared at the door as if it personally offended him and threw the stack of magazines into the drawer. 

 

On the third day in his private room he gave up and pulled them out again. He was bored out of his mind and he could only spend so much time sleeping or worrying about his future. Might as well enjoy the reprieve while it lasted.

He was slowly reading through the first comic book, still fuzzy from the painkillers as he was, when there was a knock on the door and the doctor entered, followed by two nurses.

“James, how are you,” the doctor said curtly. Bucky just nodded and kept his eyes trained on the floor. James. He hated that name but there was no way he was telling them to call him Bucky. 

“We’re going to redress your wound and see how you’re doing, okay?”

One of the nurses, Bertha – her nametag said, started to undo the bandages. He looked out of the window and grit his teeth. He tried to focus on anything else. Bertha was nice, she always told him about her day, how the traffic sucked and how her kids were driving her nuts while she was cleaning out his dishes. She never seemed to need any input from him, which Bucky greatly appreciated.

“James! Are you listening?” 

Bucky snapped back and looked at the doctor. She sighed, annoyed, and repeated. “I want you to have a look.”

He took a deep breath and turned his head. He couldn’t stop the quiet whine that escaped him when he saw what was left of his arm. It was red and puffy and hideous. At the same time, it felt like he was looking at a gore picture on TV, like this wasn’t his body, couldn’t be…

The doctor kelp talking, something about stitches and staples, but Bucky didn’t even try to follow. His mind was blank and a feeling of numbness sat heavily in his stomach. He nodded and mumbled “yes Ma’am” in all the right places. The doctor, satisfied, redressed the stump in a much smaller bundle of bandages and left. 

Bertha lingered behind, cleaning up the supplies, throwing worried glances in Bucky’s direction. A few times she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something but then just shook her head. She hesitated at the door and turned around.

“And James? The TV remote is in the drawer on your right.”

He tried to muster a small smile for her. She smiled back and left. His eyelids felt heavy and he was glad to feel himself falling back to a deep, dreamless sleep.

**  
By the end of the week he felt more rested than in a long time, while restlessness was building steadily under his skin. He’d read all the comics two times and was starting a third reread of his favorites. He watched some TV but carefully avoided all news channels. It reminded him of being sick as a child. He would stay in bed all day, watching cartoons, until he’d grew sick of them and yearned to go outside and play with his sisters. Thinking of his sisters felt like his heart was being ripped in pieces, so he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind again.

At the same time, he knew his little vacation was over. The doctor had told him he was being released tomorrow. As much as he hated hospitals in general, he didn’t want it to end. Having a clean bed, regular meals and being generally pain-free most of the time, it was easy to get used to it quickly. He had no idea what waited for him tomorrow, where he’ll sleep or when and what was his next meal going to be. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe this Phil guy is a decent guy, maybe… but he knew that was stupid. He was stupid, and useless and a bad sub and he needed to fucking stop dreaming.

But at least he could make the best of his stay here, while it lasted. He pushed the little call button on his bed and prayed Bertha was working today. 

Just a few second’s later, Bertha’s curly head appeared in the door. “Are you okay, James?”

“Yes, I just wanted to ask if I could... maybe, um, take a bath?” He knew it was silly but when he was down there he often dreamed of a hot bath, preferably with bubbles and scented oils and all the stuff his sisters kept and he secretly used. It was just that he hadn’t felt clean in a long time. He was always filthy and sticky and disgusting.

Bertha hesitated for a moment and Bucky felt his stomach drop. Before he could backtrack, she answered easily: “Absolutely, I’ll help you.”

She disappeared in the adjoining bathroom and he heard water running. A minute later she brought a plastic wrap and started to cover his bandages. She worked quickly and efficiently all the while keeping a steady stream of small talk.

Once he was all set, she helped him to the bathroom. He shrugged off the hospital issued pajamas without hesitating. Not that she hadn’t seen it all or that he had any modesty to protect. With Bertha’s help he managed to get into the tub without falling over and laid down.

“Okay?”

He just nodded. He didn’t think he could speak if wanted to. The water temperature was perfectly warm, bordering on hot. It immediately started to seep away all his aches and sores. When he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was still at home, that he was whole, getting ready to hang out with Steve or just relaxing after a long day. He didn’t want to think about all the times he hid in the bathtub to cry silently after yet another fight with his father. He cleared his mind and only focused on the feeling of warm water encompassing him, tickling his toes as they poked out above the surface and gently splashing against his chin.

No matter what tomorrow brings, at least he had this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this early but the next chapter should be ready in a week.
> 
> I wish I had more time to write but I have a 3yo toddler and a 3mo baby, one which goes to bed at 10:30pm and the other wakes at 5:30am. And I also work as a freelancer from home, so...
> 
> Well, anyway, I hoped you enjoyed it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's POV  
> Bucky arrives at his new home

Phil woke up before his alarm went off but allowed himself another five minutes in bed to think about the day ahead. Today he was picking up James from the hospital. He had no idea how that would go but hoped for the best. 

The doctors had kept Phil informed about James’ health status but he decided to keep his distance. He wanted to give James some space to recover and hopefully keep him from being too overwhelmed.

Still, he knew this was the hard part. Gaining the sub’s trust, figuring out what they need and how to move forward. 

But this wasn’t his first time. It wasn’t easy with Clint. When he first met him, the teen was loud and bratty, hiding his insecurities and a need for a safe place. They found him during a bust on a drug dealing gang, dirty and half starved. As an underage orphan with less than stellar record of stealing and conning, he didn’t have many options. Phil offered to take him in and vouch for him. Since then, Clint made a run for it twice, which Phil completely expected and was always able to talk him into coming back. Lately, Phil was glad to say that Clint was finally settling down a little.

With Natasha, it was even harder. She was angry and fierce. And so very protective. 

He was interrupted from his musings by a soft sound behind his bedroom door. Smiling, he opened the door to find Sasha sitting on the floor in her pajamas. 

“Coffee?” she held up a small pink plastic cup from her toy kitchen. 

“Thank you, honey. You’re up early.”

“But the sun’s already up too!” she said seriously with a frown.

“So it is,” he smiled and tousled her hair. 

He found Natasha sprawled on the couch, trying to stay awake. He gently squeezed her shoulder as he walked by to the coffee machine to get some real coffee. It took her a long time to warm up to him and even now he sometimes felt as if she was watching him intently, waiting for him to show his true face. No wonder she had trust issue. Sold by her father at 14 to the boss of Russian mafia, she must have been through a lot. Two years later the boss was found dead with his throat slit in a room with very pregnant, blood covered Natasha. Eventually she agreed to cooperate and provide all her intel on the Russian mafia, in exchange for a safe place for her and her baby. 

Of course, Phil volunteered to take her in, just until they figure out the rest. It’s been two years since then and he couldn’t imagine his life without them. 

“You want some too?” he asked Natasha as he started machine.

“Hm,” she grunted groggily. “Why does the sun have to rise up at 5 am?”

He just smiled. Yeah, toddlers didn’t give a damn about clocks.

“I’m picking up James today.” He took one cup of coffee and set it on the coffee table by the couch. On second thought, he took it away and set it on bar, out of reach.

“Just- Be nice, okay?”

“I’m always nice, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she teased.

He gave her an unimpressed look until she rolled her eyes with an over-exaggerated sigh. “Fine!”

She might be a mother with a shitload of emotional trauma, but she was still a teenager.

He took his coffee to his study and went through the reports and intel again, looking for something he’d missed. He’d been on this mission for months and it was driving him crazy. This trafficking ring had been on their radar for quite some time but taking down the small fish wasn’t leading anywhere. So he played his role of a perverted sadist and hoped to get to the top. And quite frankly, he hoped James would provide some useful insight. 

He soon gave up on trying to be productive and went to Clint’s room. He knocked and waited for a sleepy “Come in.”

“Are planning on getting up before lunch?” Phil asked and looked around the messy room.

“I’m on it, Sir.” Clint answered cheerfully and rolled over.

“And clean up this mess!”

A few days ago they had rearranged the room to fit another bed and a table. It was a tight fit but it should do. When he bought this one-story, he hesitated if it wasn’t too big for him. Now he was really glad for the three bedrooms. This way, Natasha and Sasha had their own room, as did he. Now Clint and James would have to share but hopefully they would get along. Clint could charm almost anybody. 

The day dragged on. He left early to make a stop at the store. James would need some clothes to change to. He went straight to sweatpants section. Probably better not to frustrate James with buttons just yet. He added a couple of shirts and a hoodie, all in neutral grey and black colors. After a short hesitation, he threw in one pack of boxers and one of briefs. Choices are important.

After he arrived at the hospital, he announced himself at the reception and handed over the bag with clothes.

“If you would take a seat, we’ll bring him right away,” the receptionist smiled pleasantly.

He sat down in one of the chairs lining the wall and picked up a magazine to give his hands something to do. In his head was replaying everything he knew on James. It wasn’t much. The contract he signed with Rumlow only contained his name and age – James Barnes, 17. All subs under the age of 18 had to have a registered Dom. For most kids this meant one of their parents or a close relative. Children without families stayed at children homes until the age of 15 and then regularly saw a state-assigned Dom. Sadly, it wasn’t uncommon for children from these vulnerable groups to end up in bad situations or disappear underground in the hands of a trafficking ring.

He took a deep breath. This was no time to get angry. He was sure James was scared of him enough as it was.

After about ten minutes the door opened and James was wheeled in. Phil stood up and approached them slowly, trying to look non-threatening. James was swimming in the new clothes Phil brought, all the more for the missing arm. In his right hand he was clutching a stack of magazines and he kept his eyes trailed somewhere at Phil’s shoes.

“I’ll take it from here. Come on, James”.

James flinched little as Phil put a steadying arm around James’ biceps and helped him out of the chair. Phil clenched his teeth but didn’t comment. 

When they made it to the car parked outside, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He turned around to look at James. He was still pale, with dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise looked much better than the last time he saw him. His dark hair was tied to a neat ponytail and had a healthy shine.

“I don’t think we were really introduced yet, my name’s Phil. Is it okay if I call you James?”

“Yes, Sir”

“Just Phil’s fine.”

“Yes, Sir”

Phil sighed and started the car. The rest of the one-hour drive passed in silence. What was there to say, anyway. Any promises and reassurances would fall flat as James was obviously not ready to trust him.

Phil kept checking him in the rearview mirror but James stared stubbornly out of the window, all rigid with tension at first and then slowly slumping against the door as exhaustion overtook him.

When they parked in the driveway, James jolted from his slumber with wide eyes. 

“Home sweet home,” Phil smiled as he led James to main living room, where Natasha and Clint were watching TV and Sasha was playing with her stuffed animals on the carpet. 

“You remember Clint, I believe. And that’s Natasha and her daughter Sasha.”

James mumbled a hello and kept standing awkwardly in the doorway until Clint invitingly patted the spot on the couch next to him. James perched himself on the edge of couch, throwing nervous glances towards Sasha, who was staring at him openly with unbridled curiosity.

After she deemed her inspection satisfactory, she took all her stuffed dogs and deposited them in James’ lap.

“These are my dogs, Skye and Rocky and Zuma and Chase and Rubble and Marshal. I always sleep with Skye, she’s the best, but you can have Chase,” she bubbled cheerfully.

James threw a terrified look towards Natasha who just chuckled. “That’s the blue one.”

“Thank you,” James reverently took the toy and smiled softly.

“Alright, you have your sleep buddy, let me show you to your room and get you settled. You look like could use a nap.”

Phil helped James fold the new clothes into drawers and brought him his painkiller with a glass of water. The hospital gave him exact instructions on how to gradually wean James off painkillers, which Phil kept securely in a locked cabinet in the bathroom. It was some strong stuff. 

“Just try to rest, you’re still recovering. Come find me when you’re ready for dinner, okay?”

Phil blew out a breath as he closed the door. It was going to be a long journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard. I wish I was better at it - I have this story in my head but when I try to put it on paper, it keeps fighting me. But as I said, this is my first attempt, and I had fun writing it, so it will have to do.
> 
> And yes, I shamelessly use my daughter as inspiration:)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky freaks out in the middle of the night, Phil makes it better.

Bucky was woken up by sharp pins and needles in the fingers of his left hand. Damn it, he must have slept on it. He rolled over to massage the hand and then froze. His stomach dropped and the world spun. It was _gone_. His arm just wasn’t there and it still _hurt._

Icy panic gripped him around the throat. He looked around and reality came crashing back to him. Phil… he must have fallen asleep yesterday. He was supposed to come out for dinner. It was a simple order. How the hell did he manage to fuck up already?

 

His left hand was now starting to tingle and itch. Bucky squeezed his eyes tightly and tried to calm down. _Shut up, brain, it’s not real, it’s not there, shut up, shut up!_

 

A soft snore came from the other side of the room. Bucky listened intently but no other sounds were coming from anywhere. Everybody was probably asleep and even though he had no idea what the time was, it felt like the middle of the night.

 

He could do this. He just needed to go back to sleep and deal with the consequences tomorrow. No need to make this worse.

 

How could he have fallen asleep? He had a week in the hospital to sleep all day. Why was he still so fucking tired?

 

His heart was beating hard against his ribcage. Could Clint hear that? Was he breathing too loud? He hoped Clint wasn’t a light sleeper. The comforter rustled impossibly loud as he tried to find a position to alleviate the phantom pain in his left hand.

 

He needed to stop moving. Sweat started to break out on his back as he lay rigidly still. _Don’t move a muscle_ , a voice sounding suspiciously like Rumlow whispered in his head. _Or should I get the ropes again?_

Bucky stumbled out of the bed. Change of plans. He would go to the living room and wait there silently until he was calm enough to go back to sleep.

 

Using his right hand to feel against the furniture, he slowly crept from the room. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness and he could make out the shapes of his unfamiliar surroundings.

 

Suddenly he felt his foot connect with something hard and saw some sort of toy train flying across the room. It fell with a loud thud and started to blast _Old MacDonald had a farm_ at full volume.  Bucky cringed and hurried to shut it off. He fumbled with the switch for impossibly long seconds before the room fell blissfully silent again.

 

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck…_ There was no way this didn’t wake everyone up. Stupid! Maybe he could still make it to bed and pretend to be asleep. Maybe…

 

“James?”

 

Phil was standing in the doorway, fully awake and watching Bucky with a strange expression on his face.

 

“I’m so sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean to- I just wanted to, I was-”

 

“It’s okay, what happened?” Phil was slowly approaching Bucky with palms up in a placating gesture.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m- I was…” Bucky couldn’t hold onto a single thought. He was going to drop, he felt it. He was going to drop right here in front of Phil and there was nothing he could do about it. His breaths were coming in short gasps and the familiar buzzing in his ears was getting louder. Tears started to prickle his eyes.

 

“Alright, come here.” Phil put a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder and guided him towards the couch. He sat down and threw one of the decorative pillows on the ground next his feet.

 

Bucky went down willingly, grateful for not having to think about what to do or say next.

 

A strong, warm hand rested against the nape of his neck. Bucky tensed, waiting for it to squeeze, choke or push him towards the other man’s crotch.

 

“I’ve got you, James. Take a deep breath.” Phil gently guided Bucky to rest his forehead against the soft fabric of his pyjama pants.

 

After a few shaky breaths, Bucky felt himself relax by a fraction.

 

“That’s it, you’re doing great.” Phil was running soothing circles with his thumb against the side of Bucky’s neck.

 

“You’re here with me, I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever again. You’re doing so good, I’m proud of you.”

 

Bucky shuddered at the words but in a good way. He felt warmth slowly spreading from the pit of his stomach, replacing the cold dread.

 

He leaned forward and wrapped his arm around Phil’s calves, holding him impossibly tight, as if afraid he might disappear at any moment.

 

“Please,” he whispered, not really sure what he was asking for.

 

“It’s okay. Take all the time you need, I’m here.”

 

They stayed like this for a long time. Phil was running his fingers gently through Bucky’s hair, murmuring encouragements and praise, while the other hand remained firmly around the back of his neck, making him feel anchored and safe.

 

Somewhere in the process Bucky felt himself go boneless and his eyes started to droop. The pain in his missing limb disappeared and for the first time since everything went to shit, Bucky felt like _a person_ again. Like he mattered. Like he did good and was worthy of this gentle, caring touch. He was ready to burst with all these feelings he didn’t know what to do with.

 

Maybe he should offer a blowjob in return but he couldn’t make himself move. Then again, if Phil wanted something from him, he would surely let him know. He gave up control and enjoyed the quiet serenity that filled his mind, until he felt like he might fall asleep on his knees.

 

“James? You think you’re ready to go back to bed?” Phil asked, gently squeezing his neck.

 

“Yeah.” He got up and slowly made his way towards the bedroom. At the door he turned back to Phil.

 

“And Sir?

 

“Yes?”

 

“My name’s Bucky.”

 

Phil gave him one of his small, gentle smiles. “Good night, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a lot of fun to write, I love angst with comfort/fluff. Hope you enjoyed it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil discusses the rules  
> Bucky remembers his childhood

Mornings on a workday were a hectic affair. James – Bucky, Phil corrected himself – was sitting on the edge of his chair, slowly eating his cereal, watching with wide eyes as Sasha was lying on the floor, screaming from the top of her lungs. Natasha must have been distracted because she made the rookie mistake of pouring the girl’s cereal herself, instead of asking if she wanted to do it. Now Sasha was throwing a fit, looking like her whole life had been ruined. 

Clint was in the kitchen, making sandwiches for him and Natasha, shouting over Sasha’s shrieking and Paw Patrol playing in the background, asking about the preferred condiments. 

Eventually, Natasha managed to wrestle Sasha out of her pajamas and into her dress and 5 minutes to eight, the door slammed shut behind them, leaving the house in a blissful silence again. They always left together. Clint helped Natasha take Sasha to the kindergarten and then split ways. Natasha to school and Clint to his one-on-one classes. Hopefully, he would be able to catch up on the curriculum enough to join high school next year.

Once everybody was gone, Phil plopped down on the chair next to Bucky.

“We need to talk.”

Phil saw Bucky’s face immediately fall, even though he tried to mask it a moment later. He sighed and put a reassuring hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gauging his reaction. He was walking a thin line here. Bucky was obviously touch-starved, yearning for any kindness he could get; on the other hand, Phil had to be careful not give him the wrong idea.

“For the record, I’m not mad about yesterday. You needed the rest. If I had wanted you to get up, I would have woken you.”

Bucky sagged a little so Phil continued. “I want to talk about the rules here. There aren’t many, two, actually.

First of all, I’d like you to take care of yourself. Get something from the fridge when you’re hungry, drink when you want, use the bathroom as you need. Please don’t wait for me to give you permission for any of the basic stuff, I might not be around and I tend to forget. If you’re not sure about anything, ask me or Clint or Natasha.

And second, don’t lie to me or hide things. If you’re sick, or hurt, or dropping – come to me and tell me. Even in the middle of the night.”

He gave Bucky a minute to mull it over and asked. “Any questions?”

Bucky shifted in his chair, looking uncertain. After a while, he just shook his head.

“Then there is one last thing I need to ask you. Do you want to contact your family? Or anyone else, for that matter?”

Bucky froze and his face went a few shades paler. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times but nothing came out.

“You know what, don’t answer that. Just think about it and let me know if you change your mind.”

Together they cleaned up the mess after breakfast, working in easy silence. Bucky seemed to be lost deep in thought and Phil let him be. He probably had a lot to think about.

When the dishwasher was stacked, Phil gave Bucky a grand tour of the house. He showed him their meagre collection of books and demonstrated how to navigate the hundreds of channels on the TV. 

“If you need anything, I’ll be in my bedroom. Just take it easy, okay?” With that he left Bucky to his own devices.

****

Hearing Phil mention his family brought a whirlwind of memories, most of which he tried to repress these two past years. It wasn’t all bad, of course. Mostly before he presented as a sub, when he was just a naïve kid, playing dolls with his three older sisters.

Being the youngest, and the only boy, his father always gave him preferential treatment. He was a Dom and ruled the household with an iron hand, but his little Bucky… He could get away with almost anything.

His mother was a timid, petite woman. In Bucky’s memories she was milling around the house, cooking or cleaning, and never seemed to pay the kids too much attention. She seemed to be always sporting a new set of bruises. As a kid, Bucky thought nothing of it. He knew some subs enjoyed this kind of thing. Thinking about it now, Bucky’s heart ached for his dead mother. She died when he was just five and they had never really been close. Who knows what the poor woman had been through. 

He spent most of his time running around with Steve. They had been best friends since pre-school and had been inseparable. That is, until the day his life had changed forever. 

At 13, kids were tested for their dynamics and Bucky was finally officially identified as a sub. Subconsciously he’d always known that. Despite his complaints and rolling his eyes for show, he always loved when his sisters made his hair and dressed him up. It made him feel cared for, pampered even.

Steve of course presented as a Dom. Despite his scrawny looks, he had a true air of gentle authority and protectiveness around him. Bucky was naturally drawn to him like a moth to light, before even knowing why and realizing his true dynamics. 

He remembered that day. He had been happy. In his head he had already been weaving crazy fantasies about Steve and him spending the rest of their lives together. Bucky would be so good for Steve, he would make him proud, and Steve would take care of him and everything would be cupcakes and rainbows.

When he had come home, his father had already been waiting for him with an expectant expression. “Are you a Dom or what?” he had asked impatiently and in that very moment it had clicked in Bucky’s head. He had let his father down. He was his father’s only chance for another Dominant in the family and he failed. He was a disappointment.

Life had changed from that day. He was strictly prohibited to hang out with that Steve boy and his father seemed set on making his life as miserable as possible. He never touched him, save for the beatings late at night when he burst into his room, reeking of whisky and belted him until he bled.

Bucky devoted himself to studying, in a misplaced hope to impress his father and win his approval. His report card with nothing but straight A’s had gotten him nothing but more insults

The already tense atmosphere had escalated even more when his father began gambling. On good nights, when the cards were in his favour, he came home tipsy and loud. When they heard the door bang loudly, they all relaxed as they knew they were safe. Their father was still an asshole, but a good-spirited asshole. However, when the door was closed with a soft click, followed by an ominous silence, they knew it was bad. He would tell the girls to go hide in their room, while he went to greet his father and take the brunt of his anger. 

When everything had gotten too much, he would sneak out of the window and head straight to Steve’s house. There he would sob into his lap and together they would plot their escape. They just had to wait until he was fifteen, then they would run away without a single look back. 

A few weeks before his fifteenth birthday, their grandiose plans had been ruined. When he came from school he heard two voices coming from the living room. He hesitated in the hallway, considering if he should bolt, when he heard his father calling him: “Come here Bucky, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

He dragged his feet slowly to the living room and saw a strange man sitting on the couch, sizing Bucky up with hungry eyes and a small smile that made his blood run cold.

“Bucky, meet Brock Rumlow.”

 

Bucky snapped back to present. He really didn’t want to go down that memory lane. He didn’t need another drop on his second day here. He found some documentary on the TV and curled up on the couch, cocooned in a warm soft blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not terribly happy with this chapter, I feel like the tenses in the part where Bucky remembers are all messed up but I don't know how to fix it. But if I starting doubting myself too much, I will get stuck and lose the momentum. And I really want to finish this fic.


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

On the third day, Phil returned back to the office. He would have loved to stay home all week with Bucky but there were more pressing issues. They were running out of time.

 

“Tell me something good, did they find anything?” He asked Maria as he threw his jacket over the back of his chair.

 

“Sorry boss, the warehouse was scraped clean. Not a single hair.”

 

Phil groaned in frustration. The ring always seemed to be one step ahead of them. There must have been other people, other subs, in that abandoned warehouse where he got Bucky, even though he or the hidden tech he was wearing could detect any. They had probably already moved the cargo and left Bucky behind, being in the state he was.

 

It took Phil weeks of hanging out in shady clubs, throwing hints that he was in the market for a sub, before he was finally approached by Brock Rumlow. That man was vicious but capable. He knew what he was doing and he was obviously working for someone.

 

Phil clearly remembered the smug expression on that bastard’s face when he led him to Bucky. They must have known the extent of the infection spreading from the inside of Bucky’s elbow and no doubt counted on him dying and taking their secrets with him. As an added bonus, the body would then be Phil’s problem, not theirs.

 

But Bucky was very much alive and maybe he was exactly the edge they needed to take the ring down. He had hoped to build more trust between them before asking him to relive all his traumas but their window was limited. If they moved their cargo, they were probably getting ready to ship them god knows where and maybe hundreds of subs would be lost forever.

 

Maria was obviously thinking along the same line. “Get your boy to talk, we need him.”

 

“I will,” he promised as he sat down at the computer and got to work.

 

 

When he finally pulled into the driveway that evening, he was exhausted and frustrated. A whole day of checking leads, investigating evidence and talking to potential witnesses hadn’t gotten them a step closer.

 

As he stepped inside the house, his nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of burnt food. _Shit_.

 

“Clint?” he called loudly as he hurried to the kitchen.

 

The scene that opened in front of him took him aback. There was a pan on the stove with burnt remnants of what might have been a tomato sauce. A large pot was sitting on the other stove plate, half-full with pasta, while the other half was littered in the sink, on the counter and all over the floor.   

 

Bucky was sitting on the floor, his back against the kitchen island, with his head in his hand, looking like the embodiment of defeat. When he heard Phil enter the kitchen, he raised his head and looked up with a devastated look on his face.

 

“I’m really sorry, Sir. I thought I could do it.”

 

“Oh, Bucky.” He walked the few steps separating them and pulled him up. Once standing, Phil hugged him tight, keeping a hand on the nape of Bucky’s neck to steady him.

 

“I know this is all new, but it’s okay to ask for help sometimes.”

 

“I know, I just really didn’t think this through,” Bucky murmured into Phil’s shoulder.

 

Phil looked around the kitchen. It looked like a battlefield. And Bucky clearly lost. He smiled to himself and then looked back at Bucky with worry.

 

“Did you hurt yourself?”

 

Bucky hesitated for a moment but eventually admitted. “I burned myself a little when I tried to drain the pasta, but it’s only superficial.”

 

“Let me see,” Phil ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.

 

Bucky sat down and lifted his shirt. His torso was scattered with red patches but Bucky was right. This wouldn’t even blister. Nonetheless, Phil brought a burn cream from his first aid kit and started to apply it to the affected areas. Bucky breathed deeply, his posture completely relaxed, looking at Phil with a slightly clouded expression. It was clear he enjoyed the attention so Phil worked slowly and thoroughly. In the process he couldn’t help but notice how prominent Bucky’s ribs were, as well as an array of various scars.

 

When he couldn’t prolong it any longer, he closed the tube of cream and patted Bucky’s thigh. “Come on, let’s make some sandwiches.”

 

 

 

An hour later, the front door opened and Phil heard Clint humming some upbeat tune. He got up from the couch, gently dislodging Bucky from where he was resting his head against his thigh, watching TV. He intercepted the teen as he was about to disappear in his room.

 

“Where were you?” he asked him flatly.

 

“Um, coach called that the training was moved, so-”

 

“Let me rephrase that, what did I tell you to do this morning?”

 

“Stay with Bucky?” Clint mumbled, looking at the floor.

 

“And what did you do?”

 

“Well, I... But to be fair, he was perfectly fine when I left. I told him I’d be late and he said he would be fine…”

 

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clint, do you really want to argue your way out of this? Do we need to have a talk?” he asked with a pointed look.

 

“No, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. I shouldn’t have left Bucky alone when you asked me not to and I won’t do it again.” Clint sputtered hurriedly.

 

“Good boy. Now, you have a kitchen to clean.”

 

 

Bucky was quiet for the rest of the evening. He seemed perfectly content playing on the ground with Sasha, drawing her pictures of her favorite cartoon characters according to her very specific instructions.

 

“You’re a very good artist,” she exclaimed excitedly.

 

“I know someone who would strongly disagree,” he smiled sadly at his crooked up drawings.

 

Bucky looked almost peaceful and Phil absolutely did not have the heart to ruin the evening by dragging Brock Rumlow into it. He will ask first thing tomorrow morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapter is short but I wanted to post it as I won't be to able to update this often anymore. I will still try to get the next chapter ready by next Wednesday.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's quite a lot of angst in this chapter and some flashbacks. Nothing graphic, though.

 

The next morning, Bucky woke up feeling weirdly optimistic. Sure, he fucked up the dinner yesterday but not for the lack of trying. He just had to be smarter about it, work around his missing arm, focus on the things he _could_ do. He had a plan. He would prove himself useful.

 

During breakfast, he asked Clint about the piece of paper on the fridge.

 

“It’s a chore chart. I made it myself. Pretty neat, huh?” he beamed.

 

The chart was a mess with a lot of different colors, arrows and crossed out words and illegible writings on the side. “Um, it’s a little confusing,” Bucky admitted.

 

“Nonsense, it’s perfect. I can work you into next week, maybe…” Clint trailed off with a questioning look in Phil’s direction.

 

“We’ll see,” Phil replied distractedly.

 

Bucky frowned. Phil had been pretty distant the whole morning. There was definitely something on his mind and Bucky hoped it didn’t have to do anything with him or the yesterday’s fiasco.

 

Once everyone was gone, Bucky stood up to clean after breakfast. He was pretty sure he could do it without breaking anything, it would just take him a little more time.

 

“Leave it, please. There’s something we need to talk about, come with me.” Phil stood up and waited for Bucky to follow him. When Phil opened the door to his bedroom and gestured for Bucky to enter, he felt his stomach plummet.

 

He took a deep breath to steel himself. This was another way to earn his keep, he supposed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting it all the time in the back of his mind. He’d done this before. Phil seemed like a decent man, he probably wouldn’t hurt Bucky too much. _Fuck, then why was it leaving such a bitter taste in his mouth?_ Sometimes it still surprised him how fucking stupid he was, always hoping for the best. 

He made himself move and stepped inside the room. It was much bigger than the other bedrooms, as far as he could tell. There was a neatly made double bed in the middle of the far wall. It even had some decorative throw pillows on it. Bucky was surprised to see that besides the bed, the room looked much more like an office. There was a large corner desk, with a computer and a couple of screens. Next to it was a luxurious looking brown leather sofa with a coffee table.

 

Phil gestured for Bucky to take a seat and pulled out a thin manila folder from one of the locked drawers under the table. Bucky sat on his right hand to prevent himself from fidgeting nervously. He would be good for Phil, if he just told him how. He looked at the nondescript folder and was growing more confused by the second.

 

Phil sat down next to him, so close they were almost touching. When he started to talk, Bucky had to concentrate hard to hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

 

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it but it’s important. The people who had you, the Dom – Rumlow – we believe they are an organized group who hurt and abuse subs, just like you. It would really help us if you could tell me anything you remember. Names, places, anything that might help us find out who runs the ring.”

 

Oh. _Oh._ Bucky wanted to scream. He was even more stupid than he thought. So that’s why he was here. It all made sense now. Phil saved his life, paid for his operation and hospital stay, gave him a bed to sleep in and even took care of him when he was dropping. Of course it wasn’t for Bucky’s baby blue eyes. Why would a man like Phil want to do anything with a broken sub like Bucky? Well now he knew. Phil needed information.

 

It hurt, it felt like his insides were being twisted inside out, but at the same time, he supposed it could have been much worse. Bucky hoped Phil wouldn’t kick him out immediately after he told him all he knew. He could probably talk him into giving him a couple of days to figure something out. He heard there were special shelters for subs in need, he could find a job… that he could do with only one arm…

 

The thought twisted his stomach into knots and made him want to hide under the bed. He was scared of the big world outside, having spent the last two years underground. But he would survive. He had to.

 

He smirked to himself. And to think just this morning he wanted to prove his worth by cleaning dishes and doing chores.

 

Yet at the same time, he didn’t have a single thread of doubt about ratting them out. If there was even a slightest chance he might help other subs in his situations, what did it matter what would happen to him.  He slumped down against the sofa, resigned.

 

“Okay. I want to help.”

 

“Thank you, Bucky. I really appreciate it. Start with whatever you like, anything that comes to mind.”

 

Bucky had spent the last couple of years actively trying to repress everything that had been happening, disassociating and hiding as far in his mind as he could get. He took a deep breath and tried hard to think back.

 

A sharp memory assaulted him, so vivid that he could almost smell the stale air of that cell. He was lying on the floor, hurting, filthy and used. That was the first time. He thought he would die, he couldn’t possibly survive more of this. When he heard steps, he lifted his eyes to see Rumlow approaching. It was over. He was sure Rumlow would now help him clean up and tell him how good he did. He felt the tip of Rumlow’s shoe nudge his face as he made him look up.

 

“Look at you,” Rumlow sneered. “You’re pathetic.”

 

A full-body shudder ran through Bucky. Not useful. From the corner of his eye he saw Phil watching him with a concerned expression.

 

“I don’t… It’s all a blur, they kept me drugged most of the time,” Bucky looked automatically to where his left arm was supposed to be.

 

“It’s ok. Take your time. Maybe you could take a look at some pictures?” Phil took out a sheet from the folder, containing a dozen headshots of various men.

 

Bucky focused on the photos in front of him but his mind went blank. It felt like he was disconnected from his brain and he couldn’t get through the thick fog. He wanted to blame his lack of memories on the drugs but deep down he knew he was just too scared to take down the wall he carefully built around all his pain and misery.

 

He shook his head dejectedly.

 

“It’s fine, Bucky. What about- Did they ever take you out somewhere, do you remember maybe a club or something?”

 

A club. Yes. Bucky remembered the bass that resonated through his whole body, as knelt on the hard floor. He chased the memory, trying to find more but there was nothing. Everything was just… blank.

 

He bit his lip hard and shook his head again. He felt Phil move and suddenly he found himself tucked in a close embrace, with his face smashed against the other man’s chest.

 

“You know what, let’s take a break. Relax, lie down, take a bath, and think about it. If anything comes up, let me know, okay?”

 

****

 

Bucky’s head was throbbing violently. He had been lying in bed all day, staring at the ceiling, trying to get his brain to cooperate. All he got were snippets of him, hurting and afraid. Before he could form a coherent memory, his brain shut down and went completely empty.

 

He groaned in frustration. This was important. Why was he such a failure? He couldn’t do anything right.

 

There was a knock on the door, making Bucky jump.

 

“Bucky,” Natasha’s deep voice carried through the door. “Stop brooding and come watch me kick Clint’s ass on Xbox. It’s fun, he’s such a sore loser.”

 

Bucky hesitated. He was getting nowhere. A break might do him good. Like when he used to try hard to remember that particular actor’s name and it always came to him unexpectedly when he was doing something completely different.

 

He plopped himself in the armchair while Clint and Natasha launched on the couch, playing what looked like some new version of Street Fighter. The camaraderie between these two was infectious. They kept a steady stream of friendly banter and Bucky couldn’t help himself but smile along and relax.

 

As promised, Clint was starting to fume as Natasha kept beating him, game after game.

 

“That’s impossible. You’re cheating, Nat, I’m gonna find out how,” Clint gritted as he hit the poor buttons of his controller with unnecessary force.

 

“Sorry to break it to you, but you do kinda suck, Clint,” Bucky commented.

 

“Oh yeah? See if you can do any better.”

 

They all looked at the controller in Clint’s outstretched arm and fell silent.

 

“Oh. Sorry, man, I didn’t think…”

 

“It’s fine, I was never really a big fan of gaming, anyway.” Bucky dismissed Clint’s apology with a forced smile.

 

The uncomfortable silence stretched on and Clint turned off the console.

 

“You know,” Natasha said finally, “he’s not going to send you away. Phil, I mean.”

 

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat but he just shrugged wordlessly. What did she know.

 

“That’s fine, I know you don’t really trust me but I’ve known Phil for much longer than any of you. He’s a total marshmallow and he cares too much for his own good. You’re part of this family now.”

 

His throat constricted and tears burned in his eyes. Luckily she didn’t expect any answer so they just put the console away and Bucky hid back in his bed, curled up against the wall. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to think about Steve and wished he had his bony shoulder to cry on.


	8. Chapter 8

_Bucky was kneeling on a hard floor, which thrummed in rhythm with the music and the bass resonated in his whole body. He was studying the stains on the floor, keeping himself entertained by trying to imagine what they were shaped like. He felt his Dom shift behind him and quickly snapped back to present._

_“Jasper!”_

_“Brock.” The newcomer greeted. There was a pregnant pause that made Bucky’s hair stand on end. He kept his head bowed but felt the man’s stare at him._

_“You brought your pet? You know the boss wouldn’t approve.”_

_“Come on, this is Hydra, we’re all friends here.”_

Bucky woke up with a start. His heart was beating like crazy and his left hand was throbbing insistently. It was a just a dream. He wasn’t there anymore, he didn’t belong to them. He was with Phil and Phil wouldn’t let anyone hurt him, ever again. That’s what he said.

 

Still, Bucky couldn’t stop shaking. The fear and the anticipation of pain to come still lingered and were making him nauseas.

 

He slowly crept out of the bed and towards Phil’s bedroom. This time, he paid extra attention to avoid all the toys scattered on the floor. He hesitated but the acute feeling of danger drove him forward and he knocked softly on the door.

 

It took Phil only half a minute to open the door, looking at Bucky with concern written on his face.

 

“Bucky, are you okay?”

 

“I had a bad dream, can I stay with you? Please, Sir?”

 

Phil stepped aside to let Bucky in. He hesitantly sat down on the edge of the bed. His heart still raced  but he felt himself calming down already.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil asked and Bucky nodded. He relayed the dream in as much detail as he could remember.

 

“Hydra?” Phil asked after a beat of silence. “Is that what they called themselves? Or maybe the club name?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky whispered. He was exhausted. The adrenaline rush left him feeling drained and his limbs turned to jelly. “May I sleep on the floor here?” There was a plush, soft-looking carpet by the bed. He really didn’t feel like sleeping on a bed tonight.

 

Luckily, Phil seemed to understand. He just handed him a spare blanket and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

 

 

 

When he woke up, the sun was streaming through the window and the bed was neatly made with Phil nowhere in sight. Bucky padded to the kitchen and found it empty as well. There was a stack of pancakes sitting on the counter, covered in plastic wrap with a note that said _enjoy your breakfast, sleeping beauty_ in Clint’s messy handwriting. He looked at the clock on the microwave. 9:35. _Great._

After breakfast he wandered around the house, trying to find anything to entertain himself. He skimmed through the books, but most of them were painfully boring non-fiction about weapons and war.

 

Finally, he decided to give being useful another chance. He studied Clint’s chart carefully. Based on the number of arrows moving the chore back and forth between Clint and Natasha, he deduced one of the least favorite tasks was ironing. He hesitated, trying to imagine himself with a hot iron in one hand around one of Phil’s expensive looking dress shirts. Nope.

Eventually he settled for dusting. He worked slowly and carefully, lifting each little decoration and trinket to wipe the dust beneath. It was peaceful. His mind slowed down, the ever present anxiety pushed to farthest corner of his mind. He let his thoughts fly and his mind wandered to Steve, as it always did whenever he allowed himself to. Most of the times, it was too painful to think about what could have been. Perfect with little Steve, with his gentle delicate hands, but always so sure and confident.

 

It was stupid, Bucky saw that now. They were just kids, Steve’s mom was sick and poor. Their fantasy of running away together was deluded, they would never have made it. Maybe it was for the better this way. Bucky hoped Steve was doing alright, maybe studying art, probably in a relationship with some nice sub.

 

The idea made his breath hitch. Still, he felt even more mortified at the idea of Steve seeing him like this. Used and broken. Steve was too precious, it would break his heart, Bucky knew.

 

Bucky made himself focus. That was why he tried to think about Steve as little as possible. It never led to anything good.

 

He knelt down to wipe the coffee table. As he leant forward to take the stack the magazines and move them out of the way, he suddenly felt himself tipping over as his center of gravity was absolutely not where he expected it to be. In a moment of panic he used his left arm to catch himself and smacked his face on the edge of table. Pain exploded behind his eyes and when wiped his nose with his right hand, it came away bloody.

_Oh for fuck’s sake._ Bucky was ready to give up. He can’t even wipe a table without giving himself a bloody nose. He lay on the couch and surfed the channels until he found the most mind numbingly boring show and drifted back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

It was late in the evening when Phil finally came home, after they had already eaten, leftover food wrapped in the fridge, and were chilling in the living room. He was looking worse for wear but smiled tiredly as he sat down next to Bucky and loosened his tie.

 

“Long day?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Phil agreed. “But I’ve got something for you.” He rummaged through his bag, pulled out a sleek black rectangle and held it out for Bucky.

 

“It’s a phone,” Phil said when he saw Bucky’s dumbfounded expression.

 

“I can’t… I have nothing to give you,” Bucky whispered unhappily.

 

“Bucky, I want you to have it. Really. Two rules, though. When you go out, carry it with you at all times, charged and with sound on. And two, when I call, pick up.”

 

Bucky tentatively took the phone and turned it over. It looked like one of the fancy new models. He knew he couldn’t hide in the relative safety of Phil’s home forever. He would need to go out eventually, and he wanted to, but it still scared him shitless.

 

Phil clearly took his silence as agreement because reached in his bag again. “There’s one more thing, here…”

 

He pulled out what looked like a cutting board with several special holders and prongs, presumably for holding food while cutting or peeling. It also had an integrated grater.

 

“It’s, um, I found it online, they said it’s very handy, I mean…”

 

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. Phil was blushing slightly and it was just too adorable. “Thank you, it’s perfect.” Phil looked extremely pleased as he went to heat up his dinner. Against his better judgement, Bucky felt like everything might turn out alright after all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't stop writing platonic Phil&Bucky, sorry, not sorry. But don't worry, Steve will appear very soon:)


	9. Chapter 9

Phil checked his phone for what felt like a hundredth time in ten minutes. Still no new messages. He frowned and went to make himself another cup of coffee. He was beat. The past couple of weeks had gone by in a blur. Phil and his team had been chasing any leads to the _Hydra_ Bucky mentioned. It turned out that it wasn’t a name of any club, at least not that they could find. A search on the Dark Web did yield a few mentions of Hydra and their IT experts were trying to track the source. They put bugs on some of their suspects but so far hadn’t gotten nowhere. It was frustrating and Phil had a hard time falling asleep at night, knowing there were subs being held somewhere and hurt.

 

At least Bucky seemed to be getting better. At home he was relaxed most of the time and smiled easily. At night, he came to Phil’s bedroom and slept on the floor a couple of times per week. Sometimes he told him about his nightmares, other times he didn’t say a word, only clung to Phil as if someone was trying to drag him away.

 

Natasha, the cunning girl she was, managed to lure Bucky outside by claiming she was exhausted and absolutely _needed_ Bucky to take Sasha to park. They ended up going together, all three of them, but it was a start. The first time Bucky went out alone, he called Phil not ten minutes later, in a panic, begging him to pick him up. But it had gotten better and Bucky even set up a library card. Reading turned out to be a big passion of his, and he devoured a book after book.

 

Phil checked the clock on his phone again. Bucky had gone to the library to return his books and said he would be back in twenty minutes. That had been over an hour ago. It was probably nothing, he was just overreacting. No reason to worry. Probably.

 

He sighed, annoyed, and dialed Bucky’s number. He listened to it ring for good two minutes before he hung up and went to the computer to pull up the tracker app. Didn’t he tell Bucky to always pick up the phone when he called? Damn it, he had a lot of explaining to do.

 

He held on to the anger to keep the worry at bay. Bucky was fine, he just forgot to check his phone, he was sure of it. He felt a little bad for setting up a tracking app on the phone, but only a little. As he opened the map he saw a little red dot marking Bucky’s position near the library. It wasn’t moving and as Phil zoomed in, he saw it was a café.

 

 _A café._ So Bucky was drinking a coffee, probably reading a book, while ignoring his ringing cell phone. Oh they are going to have _a talk_ about this all right. He snatched his keys from the bar and hurried to his car.

 

It wasn’t far to the café but he didn’t feel like going for a walk right now. He felt a little bad for going to pick up Bucky like a naughty child skipping school. Should he just wait for him to come home now that he knew Bucky was safe? But he was already a block away from the place, so he might just go through with it.             

 

The café was small and mostly empty at this time of the day. Phil spotted Bucky immediately when he entered. He was sitting at a small table with his back to the wall, his shoulders hunched in attempt to make himself as small as possible, his eyes glued to the paper cup of coffee in his shaking hand. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, as if ready to bolt at any moment.  The other chair at the table was occupied by a tall blonde man, who was sitting too close to Bucky for Phil’s comfort, looking at Bucky with an intense expression, his hands hovering as if not daring to touch.

 

Phil’s anger was immediately replaced by worry and protectiveness, as he hurried to intervene.

 

“Bucky?” he put himself between Bucky and the stranger as much as the limited space allowed.

 

Bucky’s eyes shot up and grew impossibly wide. All color drained from his face and he opened and closed his mouth several times without making any sound.

 

“Phil! I mean, Sir! I’m, uh…”

 

“Where’s your phone?” Phil asked but kept his eyes on the other man, who was now standing up, his jaw clenched, looking ready to fight Phil if need be. More of a boy than a man, Phil corrected himself. He looked close to Bucky’s age but his broad shoulders hinted that he was nowhere near done growing.

 

“Oh shit, I forgot to turn the sound back on, I’m so sorry-”

 

“Let’s go, we’ll talk at home.”

 

The other boy’s hand shot up and he grabbed Bucky by the biceps, pulling him close. “Bucky, no, you don’t have to go with him-”

 

“Steve! Steve, it’s fine, really.” They exchanged a long look and Steve hesitantly let go. Bucky headed out without a single word and Phil trailed after him. When they were about to get in the car, Steve caught up to them. 

 

“You forgot your coffee,” Steve pushed the cup into Bucky’s hand, ignoring his confused expression. “Take care, Buck.”

 

Bucky put the cup into the holder in the middle console and hid his face in his hand. Phil smiled to himself when he noticed there was a phone number scribbled on the cup, obviously meant to go unnoticed by Phil.

 

 

 

Bucky hadn’t said a word for the rest of their way home and Phil let him be. He was clearly overwhelmed, looking like he was about vibrate out of his skin. Once home, he went straight to the couch and knelt down. Phil took the hint and sat down next to him.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered.

 

“I know,” Phil ran his hand through Bucky’s hair, tugging it behind his ear to see his face. “You know I’m only mad because I was worried, right? It’s just, there are some bad people out there, you know that better than anyone.”

 

“I’m sorry I made you worry. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up the phone. I’m sorry,” Bucky repeated again.

 

Phil sighed and studied Bucky who looked like a bundle of misery. This was a tough one. They hadn’t really discussed punishment yet. If he let this go, will Bucky wallow in guilt and punish himself? If he punishes him, will he break the delicate trust they managed to build between them? Corporal punishment was absolutely out of the question, what with Bucky’s history of abuse. Phil had to make the call and hope for the best.

 

 “I believe you. But it was one of the few rules I gave you and I do not want this to happen again. I want you to write _I will pick up the phone when Phil is calling_ five hundred times. Take as long as you need and come show me when you’re done.”

 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you,” Bucky sounded relieved as he scrambled up and went looking for a pen and paper.

 

In the end, it took him the rest of the day to finish his task. He kept working silently at the kitchen table, while Clint made dinner and Natasha played dolls with Sasha, looking content and calm. When he finally brought the stack of papers to Phil for inspection, his posture was once again relaxed.

 

“Well done. You’re forgiven,” Phil assured him and Bucky smiled tiredly.

 

“And Bucky?” Phil stopped him as he was about to disappear to his bedroom. “You might want this,” he held out the cup he’d retrieved from car earlier.

 

Bucky’s confusion soon turned into a shy smile as he studied the cup. “Thank you. Good night, Phil”

 

“Good night, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Steve's here! And it only took me 10k words to get here:-D Seriously, I have no idea what I'm doing. Enjoy!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally some Bucky/Steve time.

Bucky lay in his bed, clutching his phone so hard he was afraid it might crack. The quiet in the house was only interrupted by Clint’s deep breathing and the humming of the fridge coming from the kitchen. The window was slightly open, letting in a fresh summer breeze. The room bathed in soft blue light from the alarm clock on the nightstand, currently showing it was 02:14.

 

Bucky had been staring at the ceiling for hours, pretending he didn’t know how this was going to end, pretending he might still decide not tap that button. As if he could be strong enough to let Steve go on with his life because he deserved so much better. But he wasn’t; he was selfish and needy and weak. And Steve… God, Steve – puberty him like a truck. Gone was the frail little boy with sunken chest he remembered. The past two years had been kind to him, unlike to Bucky.

 

He was just prolonging the inevitable. Fuck it, might just get it over with. He hit send.

 

_Steve?_

Bucky slid the phone under his pillow but before he could even close his eyes it started vibrating.

_Bucky!_

_Yes, I’m here, are u ok?_

_Do you need to me come pick you up?_

_Where are u?_

_send me your location on map_

_that’s the icon that looks like a target_

_I’ll be there as soon as I can_

Bucky blinked at the onslaught of messages and the three dots that kept flashing. Of course Steve would deduce the worst. Well it was two in the morning. He quickly tapped his reply.

 

_Steve, Im fine really. Phil is a nice guy, he helped me a lot. Sorry I freaked out today but it was a shock to run into you. It was still nice to see you though_

 

This time it took Steve a whole minute reply. _Ok, I’m glad Buck. But text me if you ever need anything. Anytime. It was nice to see you too, maybe we could try it again? Coffee or dinner?_

_Yeah, I’d like that:)_  Suddenly, with all stress lifted from his shoulder, exhaustion caught up to him. _Talk to you tomorrow_ he manged to tap before dreamless slumber overtook him.

 

 

 

In the morning, Bucky was curled up half asleep in the armchair with his cup of black coffee while everybody was busy getting ready for the day. The phone vibrated in his pocket and Bucky felt his mouth stretch into a goofy grin when he saw it was a text from Steve. _I’m so not enjoying this 7am class_.

 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Phil remarked from his newspaper.

 

Bucky’s heart sank. He’d been here for over two weeks and Phil had been nothing but kind to him but it was clear he was protective of what was his. Of course he wouldn’t like Bucky hang out with another Dom. He was stupid to let his guards down. Bucky quickly schooled his face into a more neutral expression.

 

“Yeah, a funny picture on the internet.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Phil sounded unimpressed. “Wasn’t there a rule somewhere about lying to me?” His mouth quirked in amusement but Bucky didn’t dare to breathe.

 

“Tell you what, why don’t you invite Steve for dinner this week? I’m thinking Saturday, 7 pm?” He winked at Bucky and turned his attention back to the paper.

 

“Shut up,” Bucky mouthed towards Natasha and Clint who were not-so-subtly listening and chuckling. Saturday evening it was.

 

 

By the end of the week, Bucky had become proficient at typing one-handed. They talked about anything and everything, while avoiding the elephant in the room, which was Bucky’s radio silence for the past two years and a missing limb. His phone was vibrating almost non-stop, and his cheeks were hurting from all the grinning.

 

“God,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “It’s like a teenager in love. Oh, wait…”

 

“Very funny,” Bucky deadpanned not lifting his eyes from his phone. Texting, it turned out, was perfect. Bucky could think about what to say, didn’t have to worry about blundering something stupid or trying to angle himself to hide his left side as much as possible. With this practice, he may even be able to hold a conversation on Saturday. Hopefully. Also, he wasn’t that stupid to try to sneak out to meet Steve before he passed Phil’s inspection on Saturday.

 

As the day drew closer, Bucky became more and more nervous. He had spent hours googling recipes for meals that are easy to eat one handed. Snacks and fingerfood didn’t feel fancy enough and ordering a pizza was just lazy. Finally, after much deliberation, he settled for tortellini that he could easily stab with a fork.

 

Most of the cooking was done by Clint, while Bucky tried to help without getting in his way too much. Finally, Clint just shooed him away to make himself look presentable. After a quick shower, Bucky shaved with the fancy electric razor Phil bought after Bucky’s first attempt at shaving with a disposable razor. He’d ended up bloody, with patches of unshaved beard and hardly fighting back tears of frustration. The electric razor had appeared in the bathroom the very next day. Phil had said he always wanted one but Bucky was free to borrow it, if he wanted.

 

After drying his hair he went to find Natasha to do his hair. He liked wearing a ponytail or a bun, especially for eating, but hadn’t yet mastered the skill of doing it himself. Natasha, and Sasha in particular, were always eager to help. Sasha liked to use her pink rubber bands and add butterflies and unicorn clippers. He let her. He always enjoyed having his hair played with. He used to wear it short, before, but goosebumps still broke out all over his skin when Steve had scratched his fingers against his scalp. Now it was long, they always liked something to pull at, but he still hadn’t found the courage to cut it.

 

Then there was nothing more to do than pace around the house. This was a stupid idea. Why did he ever agree to it. Why did Steve agree to it?  He seemed excited when Bucky texted him about the dinner. Maybe he wanted to ease his mind and see for himself that Bucky really was doing fine. As fine as he could, anyway.

 

Finally, the bell rang and Phil was the first to open. Bucky watched from the hallway as they shook hands, sizing each other.

 

“Nice to meet you, Steve.” Phil stepped aside as Steve walked inside. There was a slight stiffness in his posture while Phil seemed totally relaxed and at ease.

 

Sasha gave Steve what Bucky learned was her traditional welcome by bringing him a toy of her choice. Bucky exchanged a shy smile with Steve and hurried to make sure they sat next to each other at the table.

 

“So, Steve,” Phil said once they were finally all seated but before he could finish his sentence, his phone started ringing. He shot them an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” and disappeared in his bedroom.

 

He reappeared in only in a minute, with his jacket already on. “I’m really sorry but I gotta go. Something’s happened. Another time, okay?” and with that he was gone.

 

“More food for us,” Clint shrugged his shoulders. “By the way, it’s delicious, if I may say so.”

 

Bucky couldn’t get a word out for the rest of the meal. His throat felt tight and he couldn’t get a deep breath in. Clint and Natasha kept a small talk going, asking Steve about his hobbies and school but the atmosphere was tense. Bucky could almost taste the worry and apprehension in the air, even though the other teens tried to hide it with their normal bickering. From the corner of his eye he saw Steve glancing at him every now and then and his anxiety started to spiral out of control. _Stupid, why couldn’t he just talk to him, useless, stupid, ugly…_

They finished the meal quickly. It was probably delicious even though Bucky could hardly taste what he was eating. Afterwards, Clint stood up to clean the plates.

 

“So I was thinking we could watch a movie with Nat. Here in the living room. It’s like two and half hours. So that’s where I’ll be. For the next two and half hours. And I think I’ll turn the volume up, otherwise I can’t hear a thing over Sasha.” Clint gave him a wink and Bucky only rolled his eyes. Still, he felt grateful when he led Steve to their bedroom.

 

Once finally alone, Steve offered him a small smile. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Bucky with an unreadable expression. Bucky hesitated but then slowly went around Steve and sat next to him so that Steve was on his right. Their thighs were touching and that single point of contact was all Bucky could think about. He yearned for the warmth of Steve’s touch, wanted to curl up on his lap and never let go.

 

They sat in silence for a while and then Steve gently took Bucky’s hand in his.

 

“Bucky,” he whispered looking at their joined hands. “What– Who did this to you?”

 

And just like that Bucky felt something in him break. He couldn’t take it anymore. He slid down on his knees and hid his face in Steve’s lap. Sobs wrecked his whole body and he couldn’t stop shaking.

 

“Steve… god, there were so many, I don’t even remember…”

 

Steve held him tight as he cried himself out. It felt like hours before he was finally able to catch his breath. Steve’s jeans were covered in tears and snot and Bucky tried to wipe it with his hand.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse from crying.

 

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I should have… I let you down, Buck.”

 

Bucky just shook his head and a new wave of tears overtook. Steve ran his fingers soothingly through Bucky’s hair, the way he used to. When he calmed down again, he felt totally drained. Tremors ran through his body, his nose felt stuffed and face was sticky and puffy.

 

“Come here,” Steve pulled him up and helped him lie down on the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

 

He came back a moment later with a glass of water and a wet cloth. Bucky drank the whole glass, not even realizing how parched he was. Steve gently wiped his face and then lay down next to him, spooning him from behind. They didn’t talk anymore and Bucky drifted in and out of sleep, feeling warm and fuzzy.

 

Eventually, they were woken up from their little bubble by Clint knocking on the door.

 

“Really hate to bug you guys, but it’s really late. Steve, you should probably get going.”

 

Steve gently kissed Bucky’s temple. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, Bucky.”

 

The bed felt too big and cold without Steve. He curled himself in a ball and pressed his back against the wall. He fell back asleep almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for any typos, I try to proofread it as much as I can but it's so hard to find the time for myself and writing, with two little kids and a job. This is so not perfect but it's the best I can do, sorry! That said, I hope you enjoy it!


	11. Chapter 11

The sky was lighting up at the horizon when Phil finally got home. He shrugged of his jacket and went to grab a few hours of sleep before having to deal with the shitstorm.

 

The smell of coffee was the first thing he registered when he woke up. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw Natasha had already started the machine. Phil hoped she’d turned the coffee strength all the way up.

 

Sasha was eating yogurt on the floor, sharing it with all her toys, even the cars. When she saw Phil, she held up her arms, asking to be picked up. When he did, she nuzzled her face in the crook of Phil’s neck.

 

“Aw, I love you too, sweetheart,” he kissed her hair.

 

Sasha started giggling. “I just wiped my mouth on you.” She squirmed out of Phil’s hold and ran from the room, shrieking with laughter.

 

“Sorry,” Natasha said and handed him a wipe.

 

Phil just shook his head. “Have you seen the news yet?”

 

“Yep,” Natasha nodded.

 

“Has Bucky?”

 

“No, he’s still asleep.”

 

“I’ll go talk to him.”

 

He found Bucky still cocooned in his blanket, only a mop of black hair sticking out. Phil hated to have to wake him up but he wanted him to hear it from Phil.

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Hmm,” Bucky blinked at him blearily. After a beat, reality caught up with him and he sat up straight with concern clearly written on his face.

 

“Are you okay? What happened?”

 

“We found some young subs in a shipping container,” Phil sighed. It was a mess. The customs officers got an anonymous tip on undeclared goods being smuggled out of the country. When they went to check, they were struck by a smell coming out of the container and called the authorities to open it immediately. It wasn’t a pretty sight but at least all of them are expected to make full recovery. The container was registered to one Dimitri Popov. After turning his luxurious penthouse upside down during their raid in the middle of the night, they found a couple of terabytes of child porn.

 

Bucky took a moment to process the information. “How many?” he finally asked.

 

“Twelve.” Phil watched carefully for Bucky’s reaction. “Not enough?”

 

Bucky’s face was contorted with concentration but finally he just sighed, resigned. “I don’t know. But probably not. I feel like there must be a lot more, but…”

 

Phil just nodded. “I might be gone for a while. Will you be okay?”

 

“I, uh… I have the doctor’s appointment today.”

 

 _Shit._ He totally forgot about that. “Do you want me to reschedule?”

 

After a short deliberation, Bucky shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Alright. Say hi to Steve for me and that I apologize for disappearing yesterday, okay?” Phil totally wanted to officially meet Steve in person, maybe make a little intimidating speech, _if you hurt my Bucky, there is no place on Earth you can hide from me_ , or something like that, but there was important work to be done now. Plus, Phil had the agency ran a background check on Steve, not that he would ever admit that to Bucky.

 

***

 

Phil had already gone by the time Bucky finally stumbled out of bed. His head throbbed viciously and a feeling of unease sat heavily in his stomach.

 

The news was on when he sat in his favourite armchair with a cup of coffee. There was a man, Alexander Pierce, Head of Submissive Protection Services – the text at bottom of the screen said – talking about the incident surrounded by a dozen microphones from different news channels. He was making Bucky’s skin crawl, with his serious expression and sombre tone, adding to Bucky’s already sour mood.

 

“Do we have to watch this?” he snapped. Clint turned the TV off and shot him an inquiring look.

 

Bucky just shook his head. Maybe it was the doctor’s appointment that was putting him on edge. He hated that he needed to have a follow-up test done for STDs and he hated how filthy it made him feel.

 

He was a big boy, though. He didn’t need anyone holding his hand. He could handle a little blood draw, even though only the idea of a needle paralyzed him with fear. Bucky let out an angry huff. Who was he kidding, he very much needed somebody to hold his hand. He took out his phone a typed a quick text to Steve.

 

 

They were sitting on hard plastic chairs next to each other in a mostly empty waiting room. Steve, as always, radiated a calm confidence, whereas Bucky’s stomach was tied in knots. Steve put a steadying hand on Bucky’s bouncing knee.

 

“It’s gonna be alright, Buck.”

 

“Yeah, or – you know – I’m dying of AIDS, whatever.” Bucky grit through his teeth. When he saw the hurt expression on Steve’s face, he immediately deflated.

 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Steve definitely didn’t deserve any of his bullshit. He was trying to help. It was just as if there was something bugging Bucky at the back of his brain and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Like an itch somewhere he couldn’t reach and it was driving him nuts.

 

He tried to find something else to focus on but the room was pretty bare. There was a huge abstract painting on one of the walls that looked like something Sasha would make, given a set of finger paints and a canvas.

 

In the corner, a TV was playing on mute. _All twelve victims have been taken to a hospital… the main suspect has been taken into custody… Russian millionaire …_ Bucky stopped reading the text running at the bottom after a while. There was the man he saw in the morning talking again and Bucky felt his anxiety spike again.

 

“Come here,” Steve said, as if sensing his unease. He pulled him close, so that Bucky was leaning on Steve’s shoulder. _Not that bony anymore,_ Bucky thought to himself. Steve ran his hand in soothing circles in the middle of Bucky’s back.

 

“After we’re done here, I’ll show you this new place I found. They have the _best_ ice cream, you wouldn’t believe it. Then we could go to my place, watch a movie or something…”

 

Bucky immediately imagined kneeling on the floor, Steve playing with his hair, maybe feeding him morsels of something delicious, as Bucky pretended to watch the movie while his mind floated miles away. Yeah, he definitely needed to be taken out of his head today.

 

“That sounds nice.”

 

“James Barnes?” the nurse called out, interrupting whatever Steve was going to say. Bucky’s fear returned in renewed strength and he clutched Steve’s hand as they walked together inside the office.

 

“Take a seat” the doctor smiled kindly and pointed to a white leather chair with wide padded armrests. _And no restraints_ , Bucky assured himself. He willed his legs to move, even though they felt like lead. It was fine, Steve was here, he would never let anything bad happen to him, he just had to focus on that.

 

“How have you been?” the doctor asked, looking at him with an open expression.

 

“Good,” he replied curtly. There was nothing to say, he ate well, slept well, the nightmares only bothered him every other night. His anxiety seemed under control and the phantom pain in his left hand could mostly be ignored.

 

“Well then, I’m going to draw some blood to run the tests, as we discussed last time.”

 

Bucky knew he shouldn’t be watching but he could not tear his eyes away. The doctor got the tube ready and then uncapped the needle. At the sight of the needle, Bucky’s brain came to a stop and he was hit by a memory so vivid it took his breath away.

 

_He was lying on the bed, his hands chained to the metal frame above his head. His shoulders ached from this position but it was the least of his concerns right now, so it was easy to ignore. The sound of boots on concrete floor snapped him back from his uneasy slumber. He listened intently. The steps sounded lighter, more hesitant. Definitely not Rumolow, whose sure stride he could always recognize._

_Sure enough, a moment late the boy appeared at the door to Bucky’s cell. Bucky didn’t know his name, he only tended to Bucky a couple of times, when Rumlow was otherwise occupied. The boy held a small black case in his hand and Bucky immediately knew what time it was. He sat down on the edge of Bucky’s bed, opened the case and uncapped the needle._

_“No, please,” he begged. He would have never dared to try begging with Rumlow, he knew better. But maybe the boy…_

_“Please,” he said again, trying to catch the boy’s eyes. “I’ll be good.”_

_He hated the drugs. They turned his brain into mush and made everything a blur. He would then wake up, some indeterminable time later, with a deep ache between his legs and dried cum flaking from him. Not knowing, not remembering was far worse than anything he would have to endure with his mind clear._

_“I swear I won’t fight,” he added when he saw the boy hesitate and look uncertainly at his left arm. The inside of his elbow has gone all deep purple and black, puffy and radiating heat. The boy probably wouldn’t be able to find a vein anyway. Finally, he returned the needle back to the case and left without a single word._

_Then the men started coming. Bucky tried to focus on the stinging of his fingernails into his palm and biting the inside of his cheek. It seemed to go on forever and Bucky started to regret his decision._

_One of the man, after finally finishing with a loud grunt, took Bucky’s face in his hands._

_“Beautiful,” he murmured, running his thumb against Bucky’s lower lip. “Alex really does have the best ware.”_

He stumbled out of the chair and took a several steps back until his back hit the wall.

 

“Bucky, are you okay?” Steve asked with concern.

 

“I- uh, I think I need to call Phil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hates me and I hate it back. I spent way too much time on it and I'm still not happy. But I posted it anyway, cuz I came dangerously close to saying "I can't do this, why did I ever start writing this" and deleting the whole thing. So, yeah, enjoy!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the long wait. I was stuck and frustrated so I decided to start writing something else and then sort of lost myself in it but I think I'm ready to finish this fic now. That being said, please bear with me, as I'll be travelling next week, my husband is sick and my two kids are not making my life any easier. Enjoy!

“Calm down, Bucky. What are you saying?”

 

Bucky stood in front of the clinic, his back pressed against the wall, with Steve watching from a respectable distance with a frown on his face.

 

“The man, the- Alexander Pierce, I saw him on TV and I felt like… but then I saw the needle and I had this _flashback_ … and I just remembered, I knew…”

 

There’s silence at other end of the line. Bucky takes a deep breath. Phil’s right, he’s not making any sense.

 

“You don’t believe me,” he said flatly.

 

“Bucky, no, I do believe you. I will look into it, okay? Just stay safe, I will see you in the evening.”

 

After ending the call, Bucky took a moment to collect himself. Then he turned to Steve with an unsure smile. “Let’s get that ice cream?”

 

 

 

When Bucky finally made it home, he was beat. He paused as he unlocked the door to let himself in. When did he start to think of Phil’s house as his home? He remembered the dread when he used to return home to his father. He knew every single squeaky spot on the floor and avoided them like landmines as he sneaked to his room, praying to go unnoticed.

 

He came to accept that Phil was different but he still knew that it was foolish to think he was safe. Phil was a good man and it was clear he felt sorry for him but once Bucky was back on his feet, he will send him packing, Bucky had no doubt about that. He just hoped he had a little more time to get his shit together. And maybe figure out where to go next.

 

He pulled off his shoes and lined them neatly by the door. His gloomy musings immediately came to a halt when he heard voices from the living room. He recognizes the melodic calm voice of Phil, the high-pitched squeal of Sasha and the lower rumble of Natasha. But one of the voices he never heard before. The man spoke animatedly, his voice self-assured and loud.

 

Bucky stood frozen. As much as he tried, he couldn’t push away the memory of walking to his father sitting there with Rumlow. But Phil wasn’t like that so why was his heart trying to jump out of his chest? He was overreacting.

 

He looked at his shoes and had the crazy idea of just walking away. He could leave his phone here and just turn around and go. Phil wouldn’t look for him. He could disappear from the system and just live on the streets.

  
He scoffed at himself. He wouldn’t survive a week on the streets, who was he kidding. He took a deep breath and tried not to show his nerves when he quietly shuffled to the living room.

 

The stranger, wearing an expensive looking suit, was sitting on the couch, Sasha on his lap, blabbering something with a delighted expression on her face. He was smiling at her kindly, but immediately turned to look at Bucky when he heard his steps. His dark eyes had an intensity to them that made Bucky’s want to fall to his knees. There was no doubt the man was a Dom.

 

“Hello,” he said friendly and gently scooped Sasha off his lap.

 

“Bucky, here you are,” Phil said. “This is Tony Stark, a friend of mine. He came to see you.”

 

Bucky felt blood drain from his face. _No_ , _please._ He had no idea what the man wanted from him, but from his experience, it never bode well. He turned to Phil with pleading eyes, hoping against hope.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about a prosthesis, jeez, give the man some credit,” Start sighed exasperatedly.

 

“A prosthesis?” Bucky asked uncertainly. He glanced inquiringly at Phil but the Dom just smiled reassuringly.

 

“Yeah, a bionic arm. It’s pretty cool, have a look,” Stark gestured enthusiastically, tapping on his tablet.

 

Bucky perched himself on the couch next to the man and looked at the picture of sleek black arm, looking like something from the future. The Stark logo was printed unobtrusively on the lower forearm.

 

“You would need a surgery to relocate your nerves but you would be able to control the arm with you mind, check it out,” Stark barrelled on and Bucky’s head was starting to spin. “It even has a sense of touch.” Stark scrolled through videos of people learning to pick up things and tell which finger is touched while the limb was at the other side of the room.

 

“A penny for your thoughts?” Stark prompted after a long silence in which Bucky mostly just tried to get his brain back online.

 

“It, um.. It looks pretty expensive?” he ventured finally.

 

“Yeah, don’t worry about that, it’s on me,” Stark waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a good story. The PR will come up with an article, we’ll take a couple of pictures together. _Stark helps an abused sub get his life back_ , something like that. It will be trending in no time. We’ll get publicity, you’ll get a super high-tech arm for free. Sounds fair?”

 

Bucky threw Phil a helpless look, grounding himself at the sight of his patient expression. As always, Phil seemed to get the idea.

 

“Alright,” he said, standing up from the couch. “Why don’t we let Bucky think it through. Send him the links and we’ll get back to you. Come on, thanks for stopping by.” He steered Stark out of the room and returned shortly. “I’m sorry, he tends to show up unannounced. I didn’t mean to spring this on you like this.”

 

Bucky just nodded still looking, fascinated, at the arm. He could be whole again. Or at least, as close to whole as he could get. He could be useful and probably do all the chores the other teenagers could. His job opportunities would increase drastically.

 

Then why was there still that uneasy feeling in his stomach? With all the talk about publicity, Bucky still didn’t buy it that Stark was helping him from the goodness of his heart. He didn’t know him and yet he would owe him so much. That was dangerous.

 

“I think I’ll just go lie down,” Bucky said eventually, moving towards his room on shaky legs.

 

“Have you eaten?”

 

“Yeah, we had a Chinese takeout with Steve.” After getting the ice cream, which – Bucky had to admit – was the best he had, they just ended up strolling through the city, holding hands when no one was in sight. They never made it to Steve’s, which was probably for the best, with how frayed Bucky felt.

 

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

 

Bucky plopped down on his bed with a sigh of relief and propped his legs up against the wall. His feet were killing him. They walked for hours in the afternoon, talking about nonsense, not really paying attention to where they were going. When they got hungry, they stopped at a food truck to get a box a steaming deliciousness. Sitting by the river, struggling with chopsticks while holding the box between his legs, Bucky felt the most peaceful he had in a long time. With Steve by his side, it was easy to keep his mind in the present, away from the darkness lurking in the back of his mind.

 

Bucky watched a couple of more videos about bionic limbs and then pulled up his conversation with Steve.

 

 _Would you still like me if I were a cyborg?_ He typed and cursed himself. Why did he just assumed Steve liked him?

 

The reply came immediately. _I’ll like you no matter what :)_ , followed by _And honestly, that’s super cool._

Bucky smiled at the screen for a long time, glad Clint wasn’t there to make fun of his goofy expression. He closed his eyes but sleep eluded him. Instead he listened to the bustle in the house. The soft slapping of Sasha’s bare feet as she ran around the house, refusing to put pyjamas on. The playful bickering of Client and Natasha. TV playing in the background. All the sound blended into a one background noise, slowly lulling him to sleep.

 

A knock on the door wake him up. He looked around, blearily, and self-consciously smoothed out his shirt before calling:

 

“Yeah?”

 

Phil entered the room with a small smile and sat down in the chair by the table

 

“Are you okay?” he asked after a beat of silence, his face serious.

 

“Um, yeah – why?”

 

“I worried after you called me in the morning. Do you want to tell me more?”

 

“Oh.” Bucky almost managed to suppress this morning but now that Phil mentioned, the feeling of acute danger returned. “I remembered – in the morning, when we watched the TV but I couldn’t… put my finger on it. But then, seeing the needle, it was like a flashback. I’ve seen him before – Pierce, I mean. Heard other people talking about it. I know he’s behind it.”

 

“Ok,” Phil said solemnly. “The thing is, though… We already arrested the main suspect. We found some pretty incriminating staff in his apartment, the investigation is well under way. I can’t just walk in to someone like Pierce and accuse of him of running a trafficking ring only because….” _Only because my sub with a scrambled brain said so_ , Bucky finished in his head. “… without any evidence. I can’t start an investigation on him.”

 

Bucky nodded. He understood, he really did. That didn’t make it any less frustrating, though.

 

“Not officially, at least.” Phil said after a while and Bucky looked up in surprise. “I believe you, is what I’m saying. I’ll do my best. Let’s keep it between us for now, okay?” He ruffled Bucky’s hair affectionately and left the room without a further word.

 

Bucky curled up on the bed, feeling something ease up in his chest, and fell asleep immediately.


	13. Chapter 13

 

Bucky was sitting on the couch next to Clint, pretending to watch TV while his mind was wandering miles away. Clint was commenting enthusiastically whatever was happening on the screen, tapping Bucky’s thigh or squeezing his arm every now and then. Bucky’s was secretly proud of himself for managing not to flinch a single time. In the past couple of weeks he got quickly used to being touched causally. It was nice. Clint’s affectionate hugs and Phil’s reassuring and grounding hand on his neck or in his hair.

 

But it still left him craving _something_. He needed more. And he needed Steve to give it to him, that much he felt deep in his bones. He met with Steve a couple of times in the past week but they never did more than hold hands.

 

It didn’t help that he had hardly any time left with his preparation for the surgery. He had to undergo several pre-op tests and evaluations. Then Stark’s PR team arrived and he had to play doll for them. Let them dress him up, style his hair and pose for pictures. Smile more or less, whatever they said.

 

It was exhausting and he felt restlessness and tension build under his skin. As much as he tried to keep his mind in the present, it always seemed to turn to the upcoming Monday. The day of the surgery. Stark assured him he will be in good hands, the best surgeons in the country. Still, his mind was running at a hundred miles an hour, thinking about everything that could go wrong.

 

What if he died and never got to be with Steve again? That thought alone made his stomach turn.

 

“Excuse me,” he mumbled and got off the couch, his phone a reassuring weight in his hand. He headed straight for his room and sat on the bed, drawing his knees under him.

 

 _Do you think I could come by later?_ He typed and hit send before he lost his courage.

 

 _Absolutely! What do you wanna do?_ The reply came instantly and Bucky bit his lip in hesitation. Still, he knew he had to ask for it. Steve was letting him set the pace, of that he was sure even though they didn’t discuss it out loud.

 

 _I thought maybe we could pick up where we left before?_ He hoped Steve would get his meaning because he didn’t think he had the guts to ask directly. They didn’t really do that much before – before he got used by his father to pay off his debt, Bucky thought bitterly. They were young and only starting to discover their bodies and dynamics. A clumsy handjob was the peak of their performance and it still felt like the best thing in the world.

 

Suddenly it occurred to Bucky that Steve won’t be his first anymore and he felt the sudden urge to throw the phone against the wall. He remembered vividly dreaming about what it will be like when Steve finally took him for the first time. All the love and tenderness. It was gone now – ripped away from him by a man whose face he doesn’t even remember.

 

He took a deep breath. He was fine. He could still put together the pieces and move on.

 

_Anything you need Bucky. See you in about an hour?_

 

 

Bucky stood in front of the door, hand hovering above the doorbell, and yet he couldn’t make himself move. He could still turn away. What was he even doing here? He was not good enough for Steve – he was ugly and broken and Steve was only taking pity on him. His life was fucked up enough as it was, why did he have to drag Steve into it as well?

 

Suddenly the door opened and Bucky’s eyes met with Steve’s

 

“I heard your steps ten minutes ago. Do you want to come in?”

 

Bucky just nodded, unable to make his throat work. Steve took his hand gently and led him inside the apartment, closing the door behind them.

 

Steve picked something from a drawer and returned to Bucky, where he was standing frozen in the middle of the room. Steve held up his hand and Bucky felt his face stretch into a smile when he saw it was his old collar.

 

“You held onto this?” Bucky asked softly, touched by the gesture. The collar was old and ragged, made of black leather that was cracked in places. Steve got it somewhere cheap as they had absolutely no money as kids. But it was theirs. Steve always put it on when they played and it made Bucky feel safe. Steve’s.

 

“May I?” Steve asked and Bucky nodded enthusiastically. Steve put it on gently, taking care not to pinch Bucky’s hair and testing the give. It fit snuggly against his throat, and Bucky felt the tension bleed from his body right away. The anxiety screaming in his head was replaced by a blessed silence and he felt himself going pliant.

 

Steve put his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck and Bucky shivered with pleasure.

 

“You remember your word?” Steve whispered in his ear, pecking small kisses on his cheek and the side of his neck, making Bucky pant already.

 

Bucky nodded wordlessly and Steve squeezed his neck a little.

 

“Out loud, baby.”

 

“Yes. Pineapple.”

 

“Good boy.” Steve took a few steps back and sat on the bed, watching Bucky. There was a small pillow already waiting by the foot of the bed and Steve gestured to it. “Take off your clothes and come kneel here with me.”

 

Bucky hesitated. A pang of shame pierced through the pleasant fog that had filled his mind. Steve seemed to notice immediately.

 

“Do you want to keep your shirt on?” he asked, this tone gentle and patient.

 

Bucky nodded, looking at the ground. Then he remembered himself and whispered: “Yes. Please.” He took off his jeans and socks, leaving only the shirt and underwear. His cock was already straining in his briefs, a stain of precome leaking through the fabric.

 

He knelt down on the pillow and pressed his head against Steve’s thigh, looking up at the Dom. Steve started petting his hair, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face.

 

“You will always be beautiful to me Bucky, no matter what. And you’re so good for me, look at you. Perfect.”

 

Bucky made a little pleased sound and buried his face into the fabric of Steve’s pants, pressing himself even closer. Steve continues caressing Bucky’s hair and neck, until Bucky felt he could just float away. The silence in his mind was peaceful and nothing but Steve mattered in the moment. Steve – so warm and firm and grounding.

 

“Do you want me to take care of that?” Steve whispered and Bucky struggled to form a coherent thought. He glanced down at his eager dick. Being with Steve like this, he couldn’t help but react. That didn’t mean it had to go in that direction, though. He knew Steve wouldn’t pressure him and wouldn’t be disappointed if their time together didn’t end up with an orgasm.

 

Still, he wanted to. Needed to. Being able to enjoy himself with Steve like this would be another step towards regaining his old self.

 

“Yes,” he answered finally and saw the smile that spread on Steve’s face.

 

“Up you go.” Steve guided Bucky to the center of the bed. He straddled Bucky and kissed him deeply, pushing him down until he lay flat on the bed.

 

“Grab hold of the headboard and don’t let go,” Steve instructed and Bucky immediately obeyed. His heart was beating fast in anticipation. His skin felt hot and oversensitive already and his breath was coming in quick gasps.

 

He locked his eyes with Steve’s to keep himself in the present. He was safe, in Steve’s bedroom, and nowhere else.

 

“You’re doing amazing, Bucky,” Steve murmured as he planted kisses on his still clothed torso, making his way down. He mouthed his cock over his briefs and Bucky’s hips jerked up involuntarily.

 

“Patience,” Steve chided, amused, and grabbed his hips to keep him still. He continued gently nibbling at his cock until Bucky was writhing and huffing impatiently. Steve chuckled and finally pulled down his briefs. Steve’s breath on his cock made him break into goosebumps.

 

Without any further warning, Steve swallowed him whole and Bucky arched his back, his whole body going rigid. The hot wetness of Steve’s mouth was heavenly and he bit the insides of his cheeks hard to keep himself from coming immediately.

 

Steve gave upp on teasing him and started sucking in earnest, twirling his tongue around Bucky’s shaft. It took an embarrassingly short time for Bucky to get dangerously close. “Please,” he whimpered, suddenly afraid Steve will drag it out, denying him release.

 

“Yeah, go ahead, Buck.” Steve said encouragingly. He replaced his mouth with his hand, stroking him in long, firm strokes.

 

Immediately, Bucky was coming in hot spurts across his belly. It seemed to go on forever and he shook with the aftershocks. Steve stroked him through it until his cock became oversensitive and Bucky let out a sound of discomfort.

 

“You can let go now, Buck,” Steve said and Bucky realized he was still gripping the headframe so hard his knuckles turned white. Slowly, he uncurled his stiff fingers and laid on the side, Steve spooning him from behind and holding him close.

 

“You were perfect,” was the last thing he heard before sleep dragged him down.

 

 

He woke up some time later, still cocooned in Steve’s warmth, his dry come already flaking from him. Steve was obviously awake, twirling Bucky’s hair around his finger. His half hard dick pressed against Bucky’s back.

 

“Do you want me to-?” Bucky turned around to look at Steve, who just smiled contentedly.

 

“No, I’m fine, let’s just stay like this for a while.”

 

As cozy as he was, he had to get up eventually. It was getting late and he didn’t want to make Phil worry. Steve took off the collar and Bucky’s neck felt immediately too light and cold. He pouted his lips at Steve, who just kissed him with a smile on his lips.

 

“I’ll keep onto it until next time, yeah?

 

**

 

“Can we eat yet?” Sasha whined, pulling at Phil’s trousers.

 

“Bucky said he’ll be back for dinner. He’ll be here any minute, go help Clint set the table,” Phil said gently. He frowned at the clock and sighed. It wouldn’t be too surprising if the two lovebirds lost track of time. He dialed Bucky’s number but only got a busy tone in reply. Great. He was probably talking to Steve, that’ll take forever.

 

He was about to go to the kitchen and help with the dinner when the bell started ringing, long and repeatedly. The urgency of whoever was at the door immediately sent cold dread through Phil’s body and he hurried to the door, followed closely by the other subs.

 

When he opened the door, he came face to face with Steve. His forehead glistened with sweat and he stared wild-eyed at Phil.

 

“Is Bucky home?” he asked breathlessly without a greeting.

 

“No, he was supposed to be with you!”

 

“I think he’s in trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally some sweet Bucky/Steve time :) I've never written porn before and it was quite an experience. I hope you enjoyed it and I'm sorry for the cliffhanger:)


	14. Chapter 14

A deep sense of calm fell over Phil when he heard the panic in Steve’s voice. He knew he had to keep it together, Bucky was counting on him. His mind was working in overdrive already.

 

“Tell me everything you know,” he said curtly as he stepped aside to let Steve in. “You,” he turned to the Natasha and Clint peeking from behind the corner with Sasha hiding behind Natasha’s leg. “Go to your rooms. Stay inside the house and don’t open the door to anyone.”

 

Steve didn’t bother taking off his shoes. Words started tumbling out of him as Phil took out his laptop and started the tracking app.

 

“Bucky was at my place, he left about an hour ago, it was dark already – I told him I’ll walk him home but he didn’t want to. He called me but when I picked up I couldn’t make out anything. I heard him shout _Steve_ but then nothing only… noise.. I kept the call connected,” he held out his phone.

 

Phil frowned at the map. “Let’s go, it shows he’s only a few blocks away.”

 

They drove towards the flashing, unmoving red dot on the map. Phil holding a tablet in his hand, they ended up in a small alley.

 

“It should be here somewhere.” They looked around in confusion, their eyes landing immediately on the trash can by the wall. Steve tipped it over, spilling the insides all over the ground. Without hesitation, he got onto his knees and dug his hands in the trash. It didn’t take them long to find the phone, it’s display still lit, showing a picture of Steve’s face.

 

“Fuck,” Steve murmured.

 

Phil looked around for any cameras but there were none. There were probably some on the main street, though. He needed to analyze the tapes, check the cars that came through here. Shit, he needed a warrant to get the tapes, he needed to submit a missing person report and take this to his superiors. He couldn’t lose time on this bullshit.

 

Automatically, he pulled out the contacts on his phone and hit call.

 

“Stark! I need a favor.”

 

**

Phil was sitting on a soft leather sofa in Stark’s huge office, while the man himself was taping rapidly on his computer. Steve was pacing nervously around the room like a caged animal. Phil wondered why he even let him come along. It’s not like he had hacking skills like Tony or was combat trained like Phil. Still, it seemed too cruel to just leave him behind, going out of his mind with worry. He was still just a kid.

 

Tony sighed and threw an irritated look towards Steve. He didn’t comment though, just shook his head and continued staring at the screens. Normally, Phil would have already gotten an earful about how many other, more interesting plans Tony had for his evening, about how rude it was of him to keep his lady friends waiting at this or that gala, but he kept uncharacteristically quiet tonight, which worried Phil even more.

 

“Alright, we’ve got a car, blue sedan, fake license plate. It stopped for approximately two minutes out of the view of cameras and then continued south. Lost it when it left the city, the registration number wasn’t recorded by any of the toll gates later, probably changed the plates. No facial recognition for the driver either. Any ideas?” He swirled in his chair and looked at Phil questioningly.

 

“I just might have,” Phil said as he pulled out his phone.

 

 

**

Bucky came to slowly, fighting against dizziness and confusion. His whole body felt like rock, heavy and disconnected. He tried to move and heard the clinging of metal. Tracing his eyes down his arm, he saw he was handcuffed to some kind of pipe.

 

He did not expect the slap to his face and it sent him reeling so hard he hit his head against the wall behind him.

 

“Answer me,” a man growled from above him.

 

He tried to get his eyes to focus through the ringing in his ears. He needed to get his shit together. What the hell happened? He couldn’t remember. He was… he remembered walking from Steve, and then… A jolt of fear ran through his whole body and he started to shake.

 

“How much did they give him? He’s out completely out of it. Fucking amateurs.”

 

Oh yeah, he remembered the pinch of a needle. His desperate fumbling with his phone in his pocket, trying to hit the speed dial for Steve. Calling his name and then… nothing.

 

Somebody was pacing, the boots echoing through the room. Impatient. Angry. His eyes finally started to adjust to the dim lighting and he was able to look around. A bare room, only dirty concrete walls with uncovered pipes. Definitely not the same place as before.

 

“This is exactly why I told you to get rid of him.” The voice. He knew it and it sends shivers down his spine.

 

“I did.” The growling, rough voice he was able to place immediately. Rumlow. He’d recognize him anywhere. “He was more dead than alive, how was I-”

 

“I don’t want to hear it.”

 

The steps came closer again and Bucky blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. The man looming over him was covering the only bulb hanging on a wire from the ceiling but Bucky still recognized him immediately. Pierce grabbed his chin in an iron grip, making his jaw ache. He tilted his head, making Bucky look him in the eyes.

 

“What did you tell them? Answer me.” he asked deceptively calm.

 

Bucky instinctively wanted to obey, wanted to please. It was like an urge deep inside his body, like the need for air. He tugged at the handcuff, the pain grounding him.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he managed to mumble with his jaw still pressed in the man’s grip.

 

“I very much doubt that.” Pierce let him go and took a few steps back. He watched him intently with a slight disgust on his face, as if he was a bothersome insect. “I gave them Popov to get them off my back. Case closed, right? I wonder why I found a bug in my car, then. Any ideas?”

 

He continued to watch Bucky contemplatively, who bit his lip hard to keep himself silent. Looking into those cold blue eyes, his heart still hammered in his chest with terror.

 

Finally, Pierce sighed and turned around to walk away. “Get him to talk,” he said to Rumlow over his shoulder. “And then finish what you should have finished long time ago.”

 

Once alone in the room, Rumlow stalked closer to Bucky, his face pure rage. He kicked him hard in the stomach and Bucky keeled over. While still gasping for breath, Rumlow grabbed his hair and pulled hard, making his eyes water.

 

“You little shit. I was sure you’re rotting somewhere on the bottom of the sea. Until I saw you grinning like some kind of martyr next to Stark. Now you’re going to tell me who knows and what exactly you told them and then I’ll let you die. If you ask nicely.”

 

“Fuck you,” he gritted out, a little pang of pride making it’s way through his all-consuming terror.

 

Rumlow stomped on his forearm and Bucky screamed. A sickening crunch echoed in the room and Bucky felt liked throwing up. He curled up in a ball, as much as he could anyway, and waited for the next blow. It never came. Instead he heard door shattering and cocking of a gun.

 

He dared to peek from behind his hair and when he saw Phil, relief so strong flooded him it left him dizzy. “Oh thank fuck,” he muttered and let himself pass out.

 

 

 

He woke up in the car just as they were arriving at the hospital. He had a sense of déjà vu but this time when he looked at Phil at the steering wheel, he felt nothing but comfort and he knew everything was going to be alright. His right arm was killing him and he let out a pained groan.

 

“We’re almost there, hold on,” Phil said, sounding calm and collected as ever.

 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, hoping Phil will understand. Thank you for finding me. For not leaving me behind.

 

He saw him smile a little and their eyes met in the rearview mirror. “Always, Bucky.”

 

Steve was already waiting at the hospital. He would probably crush him in a hug if he weren’t afraid of hurting Bucky. Instead he gently helped him to the waiting wheelchair and hovered by his side the entire time.

 

They took him for x-ray and Bucky kept throwing pleading looks at the nurses hoping they would give him some painkillers. He didn’t want to ask out loud. Not in front of Steve.

 

“I’m sorry, hun,” one of the nurses seemed to get the message. “We can’t give you anything with whatever they gave you still in your system.”

 

He suffered through the x-ray, missing his left arm now more than ever, desperate to hold Steve’s hand. Once his cast was done and he was finally wheeled to a room, he felt exhausted and ready to pass out again.

 

Phil came to the room a moment later. “We’re waiting for the blood results but it shouldn’t take long and then we can go home.”

 

“What?” Bucky asked, confused.

 

“I thought home would be more comfortable for you. You wanna stay here for the night?” Phil asked, sounding just as confused.

 

“No, but-” he looked at his only arm, a heavy weight lying uselessly in a cast. “I’m… completely useless now.”

 

“You’re not useless, you’re hurt. All the more reason to come home. We’ll take care of you.”

 

By his side, he saw Steve nod enthusiastically, gently placing his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, safe distance from the still drying cast. Bucky didn’t reply, too overwhelmed to string the words together and they lapsed into silence.

 

“How did you find me?” Bucky asked finally.

 

“Pierce didn’t get all the bugs I planted,” he smiled softly. “You were right about him. He’s in custody, now the police will go through all his records, his personal laptop, phone history, secret bank accounts, they’ll turn his apartment upside down. Let’s hope they’ll find enough.”

 

Bucky nodded. Pierce definitely wasn’t stupid to leave paper trail behind him. There wasn’t much he could do about it though and so he closed his eyes. Fighting sleep was becoming harder and harder.

 

He was jerked away by the door opening as a nurse entered the room. She talked with Phil in quiet voices but Bucky didn’t even try to follow the conversation. He focused on Steve’s hand, fingers running through his hair and kept his mind carefully blank.

 

“Alright,” he heard Phil. “All clear to go, come on.”

 

He just wanted to sleep and not move but he wanted his own bed even more. Scooping up the last of his energy, he made himself shuffle from the bed, supported by Phil and Steve on either side.

 

Once in the car, he gave up on fighting the sleep and felt the world slip away immediately. He woke up slightly when Phil carried him from the car home. He registered other voices, Clint and Natasha, but was too far gone to force himself to open his eyes. Instead, he buried his face to the familiar pillow and went back to sleep immediately.

 

 

SIX MONTHS LATER

 

Bucky was sitting on the couch, his chest puffing with pride under all the attention. Sasha was the most excited, her eyes as big as saucers, when she touched the metal arm cautiously.

 

“It’s so pretty,” she said with honesty only a child could muster and Bucky preened. “Show me again!”

 

He focused and made the fist open with a whirling sound. Then he took the building blocks and carefully stacked them on top of each other, making a tall tower. Sasha clapped her hands excitedly and Bucky saw the grin on Steve’s face. Clint, Natasha and Phil all looked fascinated as well, as if he hadn’t showed them ten times already.

 

“Okay, enough,” he said and rolled his eyes fondly. “We have plans with Steve.”

 

“Alright, don’t be long,” Phil said and patted his shoulder.

  
Bucky put on his jacket even though it was quite warm. He was still little self-conscious about the arm. It was only a week since he’d been fitted. His operation had to be postponed due to his injured right arm and the following convalescence and physical therapy.

 

Bucky would love to say that he hated those four weeks in a cast, and sure – taking a shower everytime he had to use the bathroom because he couldn’t even wipe his ass sucked – but the care and attention he got from everyone made it worth it. Steve spent most of his days at Phil’s, playing mother hen when Phil was too busy with Pierce’s trial.

 

The trial was still dragging on but luckily, Bucky didn’t have to appear in court. The evidence of how Pierce operated the ring, getting vulnerable subs without families to disappear, was still being collected and processed but Phil was optimistic and that was enough for Bucky.

 

“Are you with me?” Steve nudged him gently and Bucky forced himself back to reality. Recently he’s been able to stay in the present most of the days and disassociated quite rarely.

 

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

“Did you think about what we talked about?”

 

Oh, right. Steve had asked him if he wanted to move in together now that everything was settling down and he was learning to use his new limb. And he did think about, turning it in his head all night, even though he deep down he always knew the answer.

 

“I think I want to stay with Phil for now,” he answered quietly, trying to muster the courage to look Steve in the eyes. “You know, at least until I take my GEDs and maybe find a job? I just-” He never had a home where he felt safe and protected. He loved that it was always busy, he loved the game nights with Clint and Natasha, hell, he even loved dressing and undressing the same doll a hundred times with Sasha. He didn’t want to lose it. Not yet. He looked at Steve, willing him to understand.

 

“It’s fine, Bucky,” he said honestly and took his flesh hand in his. “We have time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please hear me out -  
> I'm sorry the ending is rushed. But honestly, this fic didn't turn out anything like I planned and that's fine I guess, it was the first thing I have ever written, I knew it wouldn't be perfect. It was a learning experience. But lately it has been seriously stressing me out, I hate incomplete things and I didn't feel like writing this fic anymore so I decided to end here to give you (and myself) some kind of closure so that I can move on.   
> Thank you everyone for reading. Please leave me a comment if you made it this far, it would make my day. Thank you once again!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!


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